


The Negotiator

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Series: The Negotiator [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-28 07:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: Darth Vader was always arrogant. He forgot that Obi-Wan had spent 20 years in the desert, with nothing to do but learn new ways to mess with him. Or the story of how Darth Vader touches Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber after the events on Cloud City but forgets about that little Force-trick of psychometry. Obi-Wan has one last surprise for his old Padawan.





	1. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars, but boy do I wish I did. This story takes place right after The Empire Strikes Back. Darth Vader took Obi-Wan’s lightsaber with him from the Death Star, and kept it in his fortress on Mustafar. But given that he was mostly a machine, touching it had no effect upon him. After he fight’s Luke on Cloud City and watches his son lose his old lightsaber, he is confident that Luke will turn to the Dark Side and Obi-Wan would have failed once and for all.

Darth Vader landed on the volcanic, cataclysmic world of Mustafar and felt hatred burn in his veins. Every time he returned here – to the home his Master had graciously bestowed upon him – the anger and despair he associated with this place threatened to consume him. And then the hatred rose up and made him strong again – just as his Master had promised him. 

He strode down the ship’s ramp out onto the landing pad and looked up at the imposing black edifice which constituted his own private palace. His…wife…had had a palace once, built atop musical waterfalls in a warm and peaceful city. But it was here that Vader’s former master had taken everything from him, and so it was here, in this spot where Vader had…lost…to Kenobi, that he had had the palace built. Over a waterfall of fire and death. Or rather the Emperor had had it built here, to teach him the follies of overconfidence. Vader has learned the lesson well…and now he had the high ground.

Soon he would be strong enough to overthrow the Emperor as well. As soon as Luke…his son…joined him. That was another thing he had to hate his old master for as well; Kenobi had hidden his own child from him, had let him believe that the child had died with…her. Just as the Emperor had. But Luke had seen the parallels between them know – knew that Vader was his father – and had lost a hand, as well as Anakin Skywalker’s old lightsaber. He would come to follow the same path as Vader had. In time.  


The air was heavy with smoke and ash, burning along with the planet, and Vader knew he would have been coughing without his respirator. He ignored the few cringing servants that were about the place. “I wish to be alone,” he informed them. “Prepare my bath.”

That was how he always referred to the bacta tank he had to be immersed in every few days to keep his failing body functioning. It had been Kenobi who had done this to him, turned him into some creature less than a man. By the time he reached his chambers, the tank was ready. Two of the Emperor’s personal guards stood along the walls of the private room. Vader ignored their presence, sweeping into the antechamber where he kept trophies of the Jedi he had killed.

It was still there, sitting in a place of honor in the very center of the room; Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber.

Vader halted before the obsidian plinth and stared at the weapon for a moment. The room was entirely silent save for the heavy breathing of his respirator. Distantly, Vader could hear his former Master’s voice whisper, “This weapon is your life, Anakin.”

He felt a vicious thrill of triumph. The old man had been right about that much. Anakin Skywalker had died on Mustafar when Kenobi had stood above him and watched him burn, and then took his lightsaber as he left the man he called “brother” to die a slow, agonizing death. And the Kenobi who had faced him on the Death Star……well, he had vanished and left his lightsaber behind. Dead and gone. His lightsaber was all that was left of him.

Vader picked it up, admiring its balance. Once he had known this weapon as well as he had known his own. He had watched Obi-Wan work on it, maintain it. There were several new pieces to it now, derelict bits of metal obviously scrounged from somewhere and added during his Exile. But it was still the same elegant and deadly extension of Kenobi himself. Vader could feel the man’s presence still faintly thrumming through the crystal. He projected a bolt of hatred and darkness into it, relishing the kyber crystal’s silent scream of agony.  


Its song was sad, he realized, as though calling for someone who would never answer. Slightly startled, he put the weapon down and went back to immerse himself in his bacta tank. 

But later, after the guards had left and Vader had retired, he found himself drawn back to Kenobi’s lightsaber. He picked it up and took it with him into his bedchamber.

Even Darth Vader required sleep. Although his sleep was in a sterilized, air-tight chamber, with drugs from the Emperor which never allowed him to dream. Vader did not miss his dreams, just like he did not miss the taste of food, or the touch of sunlight on his skin. Within the suit there was only the Dark Side and the power promised to him by his Master.  
But still he took the lightsaber in with him. 

Darth Vader took off his mask and looked at Kenobi’s weapon with his naked eyes. Yet his natural were weak and the glint of silver from the lightsaber was dim and unfocused. The hum from the crystal seemed louder here. Vader cursed his failing eyes, closed them, and pressed the cold metal of Kenobi’s lightsaber to his scarred cheek.

The sickening lurch in his stomach, the spark that travelled through him from head to foot, reminded him of what a fool he was. In one blinding instant he remembered Jedi Master Quinlan Vos, Kenobi’s friend, and an expert in psychometry. He had had the ability to touch an object and see a vision of the last person who had touched it. He had intimated that there was a way to reverse the process – to leave images for someone else strong in the Force to find.

Kenobi had never shown any talent in that Force skill, but he had had twenty years to learn. And Vader’s old master had never been anything if not determined and gifted. A worthy adversary.  


Vader didn’t have time for anything other than a rueful acknowledgement that even after his death, Obi-Wan Kenobi was still one step ahead of his old apprentice. 

After his stomach stopped spinning and the world seemed to have settled, he opened his eyes to look at a sight he had not beheld in a long time – the ceiling of his old room in the Jedi Temple. It was night out and rain was pounding on the windows behind him.

Vader was 9-years-old again. He could feel again. He had skin and arms and hair. There was rain pounding on the Jedi Temple and little Anakin Skywalker was whimpering quietly, desperately afraid and trying his hardest to hide that fact.

A flash of lightning, followed by a rolling boom of thunder, and Vader felt his younger self flinch, stifle a moan of fear, and try to bury himself within his nest of blankets. 

Vader had no control over this body. He could feel everything the boy felt, but he could not influence him. The sensations he was feeling were almost overwhelming – there was the smooth feel of the sheets, the silky sensation of his nightclothes, the warm scratch of the blankets, the cool air of the Temple around him, and the harsh rasp of his own breathing. Did he always have to take in so much air to keep his body functioning? How had his younger self remembered to do this automatically? The rain was impossibly loud in his healed ears, the lightning almost blinding his over-sensitized eyes. Another harsh whimper was ripped from the boy’s throat and Vader wanted to scoff at his younger self’s weakness.

Anakin Skywalker had always been weak.

Although Vader remembered this night, one of the first since his arrival on Coruscant from Naboo in the wake of Qui-Gon Jinn’s death. He had been given rooms along with his new master, but Anakin had been scared and overwhelmed by everything and everyone. And then there had been the rain. Anakin Skywalker, at the age of nine, had never seen rain before, let a long a thunderstorm. It had seemed to his younger self as though the very air would rent apart, the heavens screaming in fury at each other, the wind howling, the thunder and lightning evidence of some battle between gods. And he could feel the power of the storm within the Force; it was bright and flaming and he had no way to shut it off, or hide from it.

Vader’s younger self was crying now, tears trickling silently down his cheeks. Vader knew that his presence in the Force, powerful and as-yet uncontrolled, would be jagged with agony and fear, and felt by the Jedi within the Temple.

There was a quiet knock at the door. “Anakin,” came the quiet, refined voice of a young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Vader flinched and felt his younger self flinch as well. He felt Anakin’s shame that his Master had caught this weakness in him, but Vader could hear the uncertainty in the young Kenobi’s voice. The man was little more than a boy himself, thrust suddenly into the world of Knighthood and given responsibility for a child on top of it.

Anakin held his breath and didn’t say anything. After a moment there was a quiet sigh from the other side of the door and then it opened, and Anakin’s Master slipped through. 

Vader stared. He had forgotten how young Obi-Wan had looked without his beard. There was a weariness to him, his hair was mussed, but his eyes were kind as he surveyed the boy hiding in the bed.

“Anakin,” he said again, gentle and coaxing. Vader would never forget the crisp, regal Coruscanti accent of his Master, but it had been so long since he had heard that tone from him. He peaked his head up further from the blankets and felt himself say, “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice was miserable and hiccupping.

Obi-Wan moved over to sit on the edge of Anakin’s bed. Hesitantly he reached out and placed a hand on his young charge’s shoulder. “/That’s quite alright, Anakin. I expect you’ve never witnessed a thunderstorm before. I can’t imagine a planet like Tatooine ever having one.”

Vader/Anakin stared, his fear and his tears forgotten. How had his Master known without words?

Obi-Wan had always been able to see right through him.

In the next instant, Obi-Wan found himself with an armful of small boy, Anakin hurling himself into the older man’s arms and wrapping himself so tightly to his Master that Obi-Wan let out a small ‘oomph.’

Hesitantly, arms came up around Anakin and he felt himself relaxing into the touch. Obi-Wan was warm, his arms strong and tight. Nothing could hurt Anakin here, nothing at all. He felt Obi-Wan’s lips press against his forehead. With a sigh, he burrowed his face into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat, fingers playing in the rough, plain cloth of his Master’s sleep clothes and skating hesitantly over the place where skin met cloth.

Without words, Obi-Wan slipped under Anakin’s blankets, still holding the boy to his chest and running soothing hands up and down his back. He murmured placating nonsense about atmospheric pressure and prevailing winds, as Anakin felt his lips brush his forehead as he spoke and as he listened to his Master’s steady heartbeat.

Anakin Skywalker fell asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan’s gentle voice.

When he woke the next morning, Darth Vader found his metal hand clenched tight around the accursed lightsaber as though it was something precious. He remembered the warmth of Obi-Wan’s arms, remembered how Anakin Skywalker had never feared the rain again after that night, and he hurled the lightsaber with all his might towards the nearest wall.

At the last second, he halted its flight with the Force, nameless fear clutching at his throat and stopping his breath even in the sterilized air of his bedchamber. He called the lightsaber back and let it drop to the table next to his stasis chamber.

And then he put his mask on and left without looking back.

&……&……&…….&…….&……..&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Was Vader too OOC. What do you think Obi-Wan is up to? Will be Obikin in later chapters.


	2. The Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. Vader never seems to learn his lesson, does he? Despite what he claims. It should come as a surprise to no one, but he can’t resist touching Obi-Wan’s lightsaber again. Although this time he claims it was an accident. This chapter has mostly angst, be warned.

Darth Vader woke to find himself in agony. Every nerve ending was on fire, his limbs felt heavy and wrong, and he couldn’t feel the Force. He couldn’t feel the Force! He couldn’t feel anything!  


His eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth – to scream, to shout, he did not know – when he felt a familiar, warm presence settle next to him, sabre-calloused hands stroked his cheeks lightly, and a beloved voice said, “Hush, dear one, hush. Everything is alright. You’re safe now.”

Anakin Skywalker leaned automatically into the caress, but Darth Vader looked up to find Kenobi’s bearded face and worried blue eyes hovering over him. Fury rose up in him, blinding and overpowering, and he shoved the older man away with both of his…with his one hand.

He stared down at where his right hand used to be and saw…nothing. His padawan braid swung forward at the abrupt movement. There was the steady beeping of medical equipment and healer droids all around him and he was breathing naturally. He was nineteen again, Dooku had just taken his arm, the Clone Wars had begun…and he must have fallen asleep with that accursed lightsaber again. Rolled over and – 

Darth Vader swore volubly. Kenobi, still hovering, reached out a hand to touch him again – a hand on his shoulder – but Vader snarled at him. He realized his younger self was trembling; grief and horror all but consuming him. The Force was maddeningly out of reach and his balance was completely off. How would he ever do anything again? How could he ever swing a lightsaber if he didn’t have his dominant hand?

“Anakin,” his Master’s voice called softly.

Vader’s gaze snapped up to Obi-Wan’s. He knew his own eyes were red and blood-shot, his face drained of color, but Obi-Wan looked little better. His face was drawn, his eyes dark bruises, and his soft hair was unkempt above wrinkled robes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t even changed his robes. They were still charred and dirty from Geonosis.

Obi-Wan made to take a step closer towards the bed again and Vader felt anger and despair swamp him. How would Padmé ever love him now? How would he ever be a Jedi now?

“This is all your fault!” he screamed and watched with a hollow sort of satisfaction as Obi-Wan froze as if struck. “All your fault,” he repeated again, with certainty. He wanted to hurt Obi-Wan just as much as he had been hurt, wanted to see the man broken just as he had been broken. Vader delighted in his former Master’s pain. How dare Obi-Wan try to comfort him after what he had done? Would do!

Vader was little more than a machine – a broken, twisted husk – because of him.

Obi-Wan’s gaze dropped to the floor and he nodded, accepting Anakin’s words. Vader watched his younger self scream at Obi-Wan, hurling words and accusations, hurtful and vicious, tears and snot streaming down his face, and his remaining arm twisted in the bed sheets. The Force was jagged and raw but he still could not reach it.

Vader watched as Obi-Wan took it all, accepted it all. He had never noticed the shame and sadness thinning his lips and creasing the corners of his eyes before, aging him visibly; he had been too mired in his own pain to observe it. But now, as Vader, he could see it. His Master agreed with him. Obi-Wan blamed himself.

Vader felt his own fury evaporate even as Anakin screamed himself hoarse. Eventually, Anakin turned over and tried to sleep, curled in a tight ball and ignoring the older Jedi. After long minutes of silence he felt Obi-Wan step closer and settle in the chair beside the bed again. “The healers will fit you with a prosthetic tomorrow, and the day after we’ll begin your physical therapy,” he said quietly. His voice was barely audible and Vader had to strain to hear him.

“That’ll be a bit difficult considering I can’t even touch the Force,” the boy spat.

Obi-Wan was silent then and Anakin drifted into a light doze.

After awhile, just on the edge of his awareness, Vader felt Obi-Wan’s hands brush gently through his curls, heard the man sigh, and felt his lips press a gentle kiss to his temple. Anakin was drifting into sleep, but Vader heard Obi-Wan’s voice, raw with grief in a way he had not heard before. No, that wasn’t true, Vader realized. He had heard it once before; on Mustafar when Obi-Wan had told him he loved him. Before he had left him to die. 

“I’m sorry, dear one,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

You should be, Vader thought hazily as he was dragged into sleep, but it was a distant sort of vindication to the one he’d always thought he’d feel at those words.

When next he woke, daylight streamed softly through the windows of the healer’s ward. A patch of sunshine had touched his face and called him from sleep. Fuzzily he watched dust motes dance in the air, heard the quiet murmur of the Jedi healers and in the distance the soft singing of the waterfalls from the Room of a Thousand Fountains, which was situated next door. 

With a sigh he turned over to find Obi-Wan asleep in the chair next to the bed. His Master’s head was resting uncomfortably against the back and there was a furrow between his brows. Anakin wanted to reach out and smooth a hand down the older Jedi’s face, erasing that line. But he also wanted to scream at the man, so he closed his eyes tightly and went back to sleep. 

The days that passed afterwards were a blur for Anakin, although Vader remembered them. They were filled with pain and grief and rage, and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been there – steady and unfaltering – taking Anakin’s worst moods in stride, he was sure he wouldn’t have made it through. Padmé was not allowed to see him. At the time Anakin had blamed the Jedi for keeping her from him, but now Vader, watching himself lash out at Obi-Wan once again as they went through basic kata forms, wondered if it hadn’t been done for her benefit. And his.

Obi-Wan took all of his violent mood swings and refused to leave his side, understood from long association, from all but raising him that Anakin was lashing out in grief and frustration. Padmé didn’t know him so well – didn’t really know him at all at this point. Vader coldly realized she wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“Good job, Anakin,” Obi-Wan praised him, trying not to step on the fractured remnants of Anakin’s pride. Vader had always loved the way his Master said his name, his crisp accent lingering fondly over the syllables. 

Now though, he hurled his practice saber down in frustration. “Yeah, great, I can do forms as well as a youngling.” Angrily he shoved sweat-soaked hair from his face. With his left hand. He’d already made the mistake of trying that with his metal right hand and still had the bruise to show for it. 

“You are making excellent progress,” Obi-Wan continued, powering down his own practice saber, “especially given the relatively short time you have been up and about.”

Anakin didn’t even dignify that with a response. He merely dropped the practice saber back onto the training mats and stormed out.

He heard Obi-Wan sigh behind him as he left. By the time Anakin had reached their rooms, he was in a towering rage once more. When the door hissed shut behind him he lashed out, hurling things about with his hands. Once or twice he managed to throw something with the Force, but it was violent and untamed. As one of Obi-Wan’s houseplants crashed and shattered against the wall, he realized he had no more control than he had had as a child. The Force flowed through a Jedi, guiding him and obeying his commands. How could it flow through him when he wasn’t even whole anymore?

With a sob he dropped to the ground and Obi-Wan caught him, eased his Padawan down the rest of the way with warm, strong arms wrapped tight around him. Anakin couldn’t remember Obi-Wan holding him since he had been a child, newly come to the Temple and so alone with both his mother and Qui-Gon gone. He hadn’t even heard Obi-Wan come in.

“I see that you’ve been making a mess,” Obi-Wan said, wry amusement in his voice and with his lips pressed against Anakin’s sweat-soaked hair.

Anakin turned in the circle of his Master’s arms and pressed his face tight into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat. And then he cried – really cried – for the first time since their fight with Dooku. His whole body shook with the violence of his grief and anger at himself, at the universe, at the Sith. Obi-Wan held him tight and murmured, “Let it out, Anakin. Let it all out and give it back to the Force.”

It was a long time before Anakin wore himself out. The afternoon sun had crept around the Temple and was shining, warm and golden, across their rooms. Obi-Wan still crouched beside him and Anakin didn’t want him to let go just yet.

“Come,” Obi-Wan said. “Sit with me for a bit before we clean up.” He tugged Anakin over to a bright patch of sunlight directly beneath the windows. The steady flow of Coruscant’s traffic passed by high above them. The sky was blue, tinged with yellow and orange as the day edged closer towards evening, and everything was quiet.

Obi-Wan sat down cross-legged on the carpet and Anakin sat across from him. He interlaced his hands with Anakin’s own – both his real hand and the metal prosthetic. And then he closed his eyes and centered his breath, falling into a light meditation. Anakin tried to follow his Master.

Anakin reached out with his senses, mimicked his Master’s even breathing, tried to touch Obi-Wan’s Force presence. But he couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t even sense their bond. After long minutes of silent struggle he opened his eyes, feeling tears prickling their corners, and made to wrench his hands from Obi-Wan’s.

His Master merely tightened his grip. Didn’t even open his eyes. “Concentrate, Anakin,” he chided gently. “Don’t force it.”

“I’m trying,” Anakin snapped, more petulantly than he had been meaning to.

Obi-Wan hummed in thought. “Close your eyes and just listen to the sound of my voice,” he murmured the command clear and firm, and Anakin found himself with his eyes closed straining for the sound of that beloved voice before he realized what he was doing.

“Feel the sunshine on your skin,” Obi-Wan murmured, “and my hands in yours.” The sunlight was warm, Anakin thought as he concentrated. It felt like a kiss of heat upon his cold skin. And Obi-Wan’s hands were rough and strong and familiar. Even the grip on his metal hand was filtering distantly through the nerve endings there. “Listen to the quiet sounds of the air vents circulating,” Obi-Wan continued, “and the distant sounds of the traffic.” Anakin could hear them, the soothing, rhythmic cycle of the air through the Temple’s cooling and recycling units, the hum of distant sub-light engines, the louder rumble of a ship approaching the Temple from off-world. Sweat was cooling on his skin from their workout. His heartbeat was steadying. “What do you smell?” Obi-Wan muttered. Anakin smelled the sharp, pungent scent of the plant he had knocked over, the fresh smell of the fabric softener used by the Temple’s laundry services, the musky, warm scent he always associated with Obi-Wan, and the remnants of his Master’s bitter morning tea, left mostly untouched on the kitchen table. 

There were voices in the corridor, merry and bright, laughter sounding from further down the hall. Obi-Wan shifted and Anakin felt the rough brush of his Master’s knees against his own, that’s how close they were sitting. He tightened his grip, feeling the scar on Obi-Wan’s palm from a mishap on one of their previous missions. His breathing was calm, unconsciously following Obi-Wan’s as he reached outwards towards the life around him.

And then he felt it: the warm, golden glow of Obi-Wan’s Force presence as it wrapped around him, mingling with his own. He felt their bond again, sparking with joy as Anakin finally reached back along it towards his Master. He felt the Jedi and Younglings filling the Temple with bright light, and he felt the hum of Coruscant itself, busy and industrious and chaotic. 

Obi-Wan was smiling at him when he opened his eyes. “There you are, Anakin,” he said, his blue-grey eyes sparkling with pleasure. “A Jedi Knight feels the Force flowing around him. Always. And you are a Jedi Knight.” 

Darth Vader opened his eyes and reached out with his senses. There was nothing on Mustafar except death and fire and despair. He clasped one giant metal hand around Kenobi’s lightsaber, cursing the faint hope he had entertained, before he felt it. The faint song of the kyber crystal. It hummed with the same frequency as Obi-Wan’s Force presence.

For half of a heartbeat, Darth Vader closed his eyes and felt his old Master’s presence once more. Then he stood up and put the lightsaber back in its place among his trophies.

&.......&......&.......&........&........&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hopefully you can tell that every time Vader touches Obi-Wan’s lightsaber with his actual skin, he is being taken into a memory that both he and Obi-Wan share. I will say that Obi-Wan learned many different ways to use psychometry though. And Vader has experienced nothing of how it can truly be applied yet.


	3. A Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. Yes, I think Vader is starting to like these journeys into his past as well. Although, of course, he’d never admit it. This chapter is a bit more light-hearted, and we’ll have the introduction of one of Anakin’s favorite people (besides Obi-Wan of course).

&......&......&......&......&......&

Darth Vader fought for his life. He fought against an opponent who was devious and cunning, skilled and powerful, and one who knew his every move before he’d even made it.  


He was fighting his old Master.

Anakin Skywalker ducked out from under a tricky back-hand strike, jumped over Obi-Wan’s kick that was meant to sweep him right off his feet and onto his back, and darted backwards several steps. Breathing heavily, sweat trickling in rivulets down his face and his back, he shot a cocky grin at his Master. “Getting slower with age, old man?” he called, readjusting his grip on his lightsaber due to his slippery hands.

His eyes carefully tracked his mentor’s movements as they circled one another, lightsabers kept in guard position as they each searched for an opening.

Obi-Wan merely cocked an eyebrow at him. “Just giving you an opportunity to make this match a challenge, my old Padawan,” he shot back, lips quirking in amusement. Frustratingly, although Anakin knew Obi-Wan had to be as sweaty and tired as himself, the older Jedi looked cool and composed, his soft, auburn hair only slightly mussed and his eyes bright with excitement.

Anakin growled low in his throat and darted in for a series of quick moves, switching his lightsaber from his right to his left to throw Obi-Wan off as to the direction of his blows. Obi-Wan calmly moved his own lightsaber into the correct series of blocks, not bothered in the least. He didn’t even shift his feet.

He did shift them when Anakin moved to reverse grip and dove at his Master. Obi-Wan dodged, rolled away from Anakin’s secondary swing of the blade, and came up back onto his feet in a crouch.

“Get him, Master!” a bright, cheeky voice called from above them, and at the sound Vader lost his hold on the moment. Anakin shot a mocking salute upwards towards the voice, but Vader felt his heart pounding in his ears as he glanced up. There, standing in the viewing balcony, the pointed tips of her montrals glinting in the bright lighting and her padawan beads swinging as she laughed, was Ahsoka Tano.

Vader’s first thought was that she was so young. Surely she was too young to have been through over two years of the Clone Wars by his side already. Currently she was seventeen, going by the length of her headtails and the sharp bones of her face. She was alternating between cheering Anakin and cheering Obi-Wan, laughing at their antics and avidly watching the rapid flurry of moves they exchanged in the hopes of picking up any pointers.

She had been their padawan – both of theirs. It was Anakin who drilled her in lightsaber forms, but Obi-Wan who taught her Jar’Kai. It was Anakin who trained her in military command and protocols, how to lead men, and how to survive a battle, but Obi-Wan who meditated with her after the carnage. It was Anakin who had made her into a competent mechanic, but Obi-Wan who instructed her in how to make contacts in the underworld and how to speak with politicians. 

She had been theirs. She had been Anakin’s. And then she had left.

Her face was vivid with life and joy. For a moment he felt a pang of…something. The young Ahsoka was overlaid with how she had looked the last time Vader had seen her in the Sith temple on Malachor, several years prior. She had distracted him before he could kill that foolish child, Bridger. He had been truly startled at her voice, even though he had known that she was alive, that she would eventually face him. His Master had foretold it.

She had been tall, the adult Ahsoka, taller even than Anakin Skywalker would have been, but not as tall as Darth Vader. Still wielding two lightsabers – although these were silver instead of her previous green and yellow-green combination – she had declared that she was no longer a Jedi and vowed to avenge Anakin Skywalker’s death. Vader hadn’t truly wanted to fight her; her presence held too many memories of things he wished to forget.

Moreover, she had felt like Obi-Wan in the Force. She was calm and centered, serenity to her mien that Anakin Skywalker had always longed for but never found, and which had seemed to come to his old Master with annoying ease. Her arm and leg plates were reminiscent of Kenobi’s during the height of the Clone Wars, and her opening stance – not her preferred reverse grip at all – spoke to the fact that she had trained against a worthy opponent in the years since Vader had seen her last.

Vader had felt a rush of fury at the thought that Ahsoka Tano could have found Obi-Wan Kenobi before he had – could have been with him all this time. He, with all the might of the Empire behind him, had never been able to locate his former Master. The galaxy was not large enough that the old man could hide from him forever!

She had been…more than competent. Vader was used to cutting ruthlessly through anyone who opposed him but Ahsoka Tano had withstood him, had landed blows upon him, had drawn him inexorably out of the Temple and away from the Jedi Padawan, and whatever he and his so-called Master were up to.

Vader had been reluctantly impressed but realized later that he shouldn’t have expected anything less from his former Padawan.

“Anakin. I won’t leave you. Not this time.” Her voice had been utterly certain at the end, sorrow and regret and utter determination streaming towards him from her bright Force presence. There had been so much light in her and so much darkness swirling around them both as the Temple overloaded. The darkness would win against even her. 

“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,” he heard the old Obi-Wan say, his weathered visage and echoing voice suddenly before Vader, overlaying the younger Obi-Wan as he swung his lightsaber towards Anakin.

“You’re not paying attention, my friend,” Obi-Wan called. “That blow would have taken your head off if it had connected.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not trying to kill me, Master!” Anakin laughed, utterly unconcerned. 

“Don’t try it, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered in Vader’s ears: his plea from Mustafar. Vader saw the fear and sorrow on that face, covered in ash and sweat from the heat of the volcanoes and lava flows. He had thought at the time that Obi-Wan rightly feared his new powers but Obi-Wan feared what he would do when Anakin refused to stop fighting him. And Anakin had never feared Obi-Wan until the moment the man swung out with the actual intention of hurting his former Padawan.

Since that day on Mustafar, Vader had learned to fear his old Master. It was a secret he hardly ever admitted to himself and one which he could never admit to the Emperor. 

Kenobi had never feared Vader though, not even at the end.

Ahsoka’s silvery peel of laughter wrenched Vader back into the moment. “Come on Master,” she taunted. “Master Kenobi is going easy on you today!”

With a growl of mock annoyance and no small amount of fondness, Anakin informed her that her blatant disrespect of her master would earn her a punishment helping Master Nu in the Archives. And then he launched himself back into the match with his Master.

Golden sunlight streamed into the training room from windows set even higher than the balcony. The tan-colored space was covered with soft blue-colored mats to aid in falling gently, and to prevent injury. There was a bright, airy feel to the place – one of Anakin’s favorites. Sparring was definitely his favorite activity, and sparring with Obi-Wan was best of all.

They had spent so much time together, were so in tune with one another, knew each other so well that fighting Obi-Wan was all but a dance. Their parries and ripostes were fast, precise, utterly sure of where the other would be and what move the other would make next. It was choreographed; it was fate; they were two halves of a whole. Whatever you wanted to call it, Anakin knew that the connection he shared with Obi-Wan – brightest in these moments when they both let go – was one that he had never shared with anyone else. He did not know of any other Jedi – even other Master and Padawan pairs – who did either. His connection with Ahsoka, treasured as it was, did not even come close to the connection he felt with Obi-Wan.

They had never spoken of it and Anakin did not even know if the connection felt the same for Obi-Wan as it did for him – if it meant as much to Obi-Wan as it did to him – but Anakin had been relieved down deep in his bones when Obi-Wan never seemed to bring up severing their bond after Anakin’s graduation to Jedi Knight. 

Anakin sensed Obi-Wan’s intent seconds before the other man began to move, and fluidly shifted to block a strike to his right. He spun, brought his elbow up in a backhanded blow to Obi-Wan’s left temple. Obi-Wan ducked, moved closer to him and kicked the back of his right leg in so he stumbled. They were back to back now. As one they turned and brought their lightsabers down in an overhead strike-block combination. The crackle of the blue blades as they met one another was louder than their panting breaths.

Obi-Wan’s hair was definitely mussed now, his lips parted as he panted from exertion. There was a fierce grin on his face and Anakin knew he was definitely enjoying himself. And then they moved as one. Anakin struck and Obi-Wan blocked, giving back a step. Obi-Wan stepped to the side, switched from Soresu to Ataru, jumped over Anakin’s second swing and attacked. Neither heard Ahsoka’s calling from the balcony anymore. Both of them were completely in the moment. Jump, strike, parry, block, reverse, hit, roll, swing. They taunted and teased one another, their barbs not meant to wound or throw off the other, merely a way to express their joy in this moment. 

Anakin had once heard Master Windu comment to Master Billaba that he had never heard anyone give so many witty quips to an enemy as did Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin had learned from the best.

“Come, Anakin, you can do better than that. It’s like you’re not even trying!” Obi-Wan called.

Anakin Force jumped over to his Master, flipped over his head and attempted to strike at his unprotected back. Obi-Wan’s right arm came out in a swing, parallel to the ground, on his right. Anakin brought his blade down upon it in a powerful, two-handed strike, putting everything he had into it. Obi-Wan stumbled forward, Anakin powered down his lightsaber and dropped it, and then he dove for his Master’s unprotected legs.

Obi-Wan, already slightly off balance, let out an “oomph” and tried to twist onto his back as he fell. Anakin’s right hand reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan’s wrist, keeping his lit lightsaber high up over his head. They hit the mats together, Anakin landing all his weight on his Master. Obi-Wan let go of his lightsaber, which immediately powered off, and then the room was silent save for the two of them trying to catch their breath.

They were nose to nose, breathing heavily, Obi-Wan’s eyes watering as all the air was driven out of his lungs.

“Anakin,” he gasped, fondness and annoyance and chagrin all mixed into his tone. He blinked his eyes until Anakin’s swimming face came into view. 

Anakin grinned. He loved when Obi-Wan said his name that way. “You were saying, Master?” he taunted smugly, his breath ghosting over the other Jedi’s lips, mere inches from his own. “I seem to have won this round.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered down to his lips before meeting the younger man’s again. “Yes, you do appear to have done so, Anakin,” he said, wry self-deprecation in his voice, “although gloating is not an attractive trait in a Jedi.”

Anakin blinked, startled. There was a faint blush spreading on Obi-Wan’s cheeks that didn’t appear to come from their previous exertion, before he hastily coughed and glanced away from Anakin and it vanished. He made to push Anakin off him then but Anakin merely tightened his grip and leaned even more heavily onto his Master, keeping him in place as he tried to work something out.

They were pressed together down their entire length; chest to chest, hip to hip, their legs entwined. Anakin could feel the hard planes of Obi-Wan’s body through the coarse fabric of their tunics, could feel the shallow breaths the other Jedi was taking, could see the sweat beading on his Master’s forehead.

A lock of auburn hair had fallen across Obi-Wan’s face. He let go of Obi-Wan’s arm and brought his non-mechanical hand up to brush it softly out of the way, watching intently as his Master’s breath seemed to still and his eyelashes fluttered. 

His fingers skated down the soft skin, over the bristles of Obi-Wan’s beard, until they rested gently on Obi-Wan’s parted lips. He wondered what would happen if he just…

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice strangled, lips brushing the pads of Anakin’s fingers. Their bond in the Force was singing.

Anakin, startled, suddenly felt a presence next to him. He looked up to find that Ahsoka had jumped down from the balcony and was watching them with a rather knowing smile on her face. He had forgotten that she was there. Anakin looked back down to see his forefinger still on Obi-Wan’s lips and noticed for the first time just how close he was to his Master. Hastily, he jerked back, scrambling onto his knees.

“Admit that I won, Master,” he said, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice through bravado. He was rather uncertain on what had just happened. 

Obi-Wan pulled himself slowly into a sitting position and rolled his eyes. He looked perfectly composed and self-contained once more. “Yes, Anakin, very well. You won.”

Anakin let out a whoop and jumped to his feet as Ahsoka offered a hand to Obi-Wan, which he gratefully accepted.

“That was cheating, Master,” she chided, and Anakin couldn’t tell exactly what she meant by that. Which part was cheating? That he had dropped his lightsaber and tackled Obi-Wan, or the part that had come after?

“There are no rules in fighting, my young Padawan,” he informed her loftily, “except to win.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and he brushed himself down. “Anakin excels at the unconventional,” he told Ahsoka ruefully. “It’s why Admiral Yularen has gone completely grey before his time.”

Ahsoka laughed.

They cleaned up the sparring area and made to depart, but Obi-Wan held him back at the last second by a light touch on his arm. He turned back to his Master, ready for more teasing, feeling Ahsoka stop to watch as well. But Obi-Wan’s face was solemn.

He reached out one hand to rest it gently against Anakin’s cheek. “Good job, Anakin,” he told him, pride and respect and fondness all threaded through his voice. 

Anakin hastily blinked back tears. “Thank you, Master,” he said, voice hoarse, and watched as Obi-Wan moved off down the hallway.

Darth Vader found himself sitting in his meditation chamber, a fall of lava descending just outside of his window, with a faint tingle on his left, mechanical fingers as though he could still, somehow, feel the soft pressure of Obi-Wan’s lips there. 

&……&……&……&…….&…….&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn’t too confusing – all that jumping around in the timeline. Vader’s having a bit of a problem seeing how happy they all were back then and remembering his subsequent actions. Also the fact that he “killed” both of them is beginning to weigh on him. As it should. Did anyone notice the move Anakin used just before he tackled Obi-Wan? The one that essentially won their dance? The end of their duel on Mustafar is a twisted parallel of this. Or vice versa lol, since I’m not George Lucas.


	4. Singing Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. I’m not sure when Vader found out that Obi-Wan had been hiding for all those years on Tatooine. In the old Expanded Universe his spies found out that Luke Skywalker was raised on Tatooine fairly quickly after Yavin. And Vader knew that Obi-Wan was with Luke when they blasted out of Mos Eisley. But I’m not sure how they’re doing it in the new canon yet. So, for the purposes of this story, Vader still doesn’t know for sure that Obi-Wan spent that entire time on Tatooine. And it’s several months before Endor.

Darth Vader sat staring at the Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from deep within his private chamber on board the Executor. The lightsaber stared back. It was mocking him, Vader was sure.

He resisted the urge to just crush the delicate metal housing the kyber crystal to pieces in one clench of his metal hand. Instead, he sat in his sterilized, air-tight, stark white chamber, his helmet off, and watched the lightsaber warily with his own eyes. It didn’t do anything. Not surprising since it lay upon a metal prosthetic encased in armor and wasn’t touching any of his actual skin. The problem with it was that Vader shouldn’t have brought it with him from Mustafar in the first place; it wasn’t necessary for his current mission. The bigger problem was that Vader desperately wanted to touch it again and see what it would show him next. The biggest problem of all was that he was afraid of what it would show him next. 

He wondered if this is what his old Master had intended when he left these memories for him to find; to confuse him and therefore to weaken him. Why else would Kenobi have done this? He must have known – even he must have known – that Vader could never be turned from the Dark Side. 

And certainly not with memories of his previous life. Vader had destroyed that life; there was nothing of it left.

But if there was nothing of it left, then it couldn’t hurt to touch the lightsaber. He would show Obi-Wan this. He would prove that his old Master no longer had any power over him. 

Vader defiantly touched the cool metal of the lightsaber’s hilt to his fire-scarred cheek. He closed his eyes and hear the kyber crystal thrill with joy; an echo of Obi-Wan’s smile.  
He opened his eyes to find himself ankle-deep in sand. Two suns blazed blindingly hot overhead, and a strong breeze blew over the sand dunes. Vader knew exactly where he was.

He was back on Tatooine.

There was nothing around him but sand and sky and sun. He looked down, feeling riotous curls brushing his cheeks. He had both his legs, his right arm was a prosthetic, but the left was flesh, and he was dressed in dark-colored Jedi robes. His lightsaber – the one he had watched fall with his son’s severed right hand into the depths of Cloud City – hung familiarly at his belt. 

He was as he had been before Mustafar.

Vader closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, searching for a familiar presence. When he at last felt a faint hint, a faint echo, of that golden light, he smiled grimly to himself and headed towards it. In the distance there was some sort of rock formation. Vader wasn’t very familiar with this part of Tatooine, but he suspected that he was in the Dune Sea. Anakin Skywalker’s mother…. his mother…had married that moisture farmer, Cliegg, and lived somewhere in this area. His son had been raised by Cliegg’s son, Owen, and his wife, or so Vader’s spies had informed him. Vader wondered if they had loved him, and what they had told him of his father.

Had Obi-Wan lived in this Force-forsaken dust heap as well? Had he been here all the time Vader had desperately been scouring the galaxy for him? He felt a spark of fury course through his veins. It would be just like his old Master to retreat to Tatooine. He had known Anakin well, known that he would never voluntarily set foot on the planet again, once it had taken his mother from him. He had known this, so he had hidden here like the coward he was. 

Vader strode over the sand, fury giving him strength as he fingered his lightsaber and thought of all the ways he would greet his old Master. He did not know what type of Force vision this was, but he was sure that it wasn’t a memory. He had never set foot on Tatooine during the last months of the Clone Wars. Besides, he didn’t feel any of Anakin Skywalker within him now. All he felt was Vader.

So, if this was some type of Force vision made up of just Obi-Wan’s memories…...well, maybe Vader could still hurt the old man. Maybe he could still kill his old mentor. Again. He had day-dreamed of this moment for many years after the rise of the Empire. He had wished for his old, whole body back so that he could confront his Master once more. Then they would see who was truly stronger in the Force.

Finally, over one of the many dunes, Vader came upon Kenobi. He was sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of a coarse group of sand-blasted shrubs, surrounded by a herd of Bantha. Two of the little ones were lying next to him, occasionally observing the strange man in their midst, whilst their mothers grazed nearby.

Vader froze for a moment. Kenobi opened his eyes and stared unerringly up at Vader standing far above him. His face lit up and he called, “Anakin!”

Vader did not move, uncertain of how to proceed. Obi-Wan called up again, this time more hesitantly. “Anakin?”

Vader reached a hand down towards his lightsaber. Perhaps now was the time? By why wasn’t Obi-Wan more startled by his presence? Why wasn’t he on his feet, lightsaber ignited, ready to defend himself against his fallen former Padawan? Quite without his permission, he heard himself say, “Master?”

Kenobi patted the sand by his side. “Come sit with me and meditate, Anakin. I was wondering when I would see you again.” Then he closed his eyes and went back to his silent communing with the Force.

Vader hesitated, but he could see no harm in doing what the old man wanted; especially since he still had no idea what was going on. He walked down towards the older Jedi, hovered uncertainly above him for a moment, but when Obi-Wan didn’t even shift or look up at him again, he dropped into a cross-legged position, mirroring his master’s.

Vader took the opportunity to study the older man. To his slight unease, Obi-Wan looked far different than the man he had last seen standing above him on Mustafar and far different from the one who had said farewell to him before he left to hunt Grievous on Utapau. He wasn’t ancient and weathered as he had been on the Death Star, but his auburn beard had gone mostly to grey, there were lines at the corners of his eyes that had never been there, and he looked like he had lost weight.

When he opened his eyes, still intense blue-grey, they were blood-shot and dull. “I haven’t been sleeping,” Obi-Wan murmured, as if in answer to Vader’s thoughts. “Remember when you asked me how I would sleep if you ever let me down?” His master did not wait for a response. His sigh was as dry as the air around them, and brittle. “Unfortunately, I was right; not very well, I’m afraid.”

Vader wondered if this was a memory of Obi-Wan’s and whether he was merely hallucinating Anakin Skywalker. Was Vader currently a hallucination?

Kenobi went back to meditating and Vader wondered what he should do.

After several minutes he realized that Obi-Wan was crying. Tears escaped from under his eyelashes and trickled silently down his cheeks, his hands shook upon his knees, and Vader knew that his old Master could not find any peace in his mediation. Kenobi fought with himself, fought hard, to let go, to stay in the moment, to release his pain to the Force and try to accept what had happened. To find the good in where he was now; as a Jedi Master should. But, Vader realized in shock, he could not.

Vader remembered the moment that Jedi Master Luminara Unduli – held in the prison on Stygian Prime since Order 66 – broke. He had walked into her cell, felt her gentle Force presence as she strove to accept her imprisonment, felt her refusal to give up hope. And then he had stood before her and reached out towards the bright presence in front of him with his own dark one, let her feel exactly who he was.

The horror and pity and despair which had followed had filled him with a cruel sense of vindication. Her death not long after, had merely made it sweeter.

Now though, without thought, he reached over and took his Master’s hands in his own, laced their fingers together, and tugged gently. Obi-Wan’s despairing eyes opened and fixed on his again. “Oh, Anakin,” he whispered, sounding broken.

Vader soothingly stroked his left thumb over his master’s palm. He wanted to tell the man that it would be alright, but he did not want to lie. So, he stayed silent, kept his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan’s tired ones, and just sat with him.

They stayed like that for a long time, as the suns moved higher up into the sky and the shady hollow they sat in began to fill with light. The wind began to grow, whistling overhead as sands moved across the dunes. Vader suddenly startled as the low sound of a horn came from just over the ridge. It was deep and rhythmic, rapidly followed by another horn from farther off. Vader swung his head to look, wondering if they heralded a band of approaching Tusken Raiders. Wondering if Obi-Wan was up to fighting them. Where was his lightsaber?

Obi-Wan’s faint chuckle brought his attention back to the man. Kenobi’s eyes were open again as he watched Vader, faded but fond amusement coloring their depths. “It’s just singing sand, Anakin,” his Master explained. “You only get it here, out in the Dune Sea; vibrations from the wind traveling over sand dunes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” There was a small smile hovering about his lips.

Vader stared at the older man, wonder and awe rising unwillingly in him. He had been wrong. Here was someone who had had everything taken from him by someone he had loved. He had been forced away from everything he had wanted from life, alone and forsaken, to spend the remainder of his days on a desolate world as a ghost of his former self. And still he found something beautiful there.

“Jedi Master Luminara Unduli,” Obi-Wan murmured, and Vader started violently, wondering if the old man could read minds now, “do you remember her?” His eyes were following the eddies of sand as they swirled upon the dunes. “She had such exquisite control of the Force that she could make sand dance around her. Such control required an awareness of every grain of sand. She was a truly remarkable Jedi.”

And then he froze, staring at the dune rise above them where Vader had stood not long before. Vader turned to look. At the top were three figures; two tall, one squat. One of them was carrying something.

Kenobi dropped Vader’s hands and dragged himself to his feet. Vader stood as well. The swirling sand and bright sunlight made it hard to see. The Bantha were becoming restless at the presence of so many people near their herd.

Kenobi shaded his eyes and looked up. His presence was suddenly wary and jagged in the Force. 

Vader narrowed his eyes to the top of the dune. The figure on the left was a woman, young, with pale brown hair. She was carrying a small, sandy-haired child in her arms. With a sudden start Vader realized that a vibrant Force presence was pouring off the child, reaching unconsciously towards his old Master, who soothingly answered it with his own. His son.

The figure in the center was………. a droid. An astromech. A very familiar blue and white astromech. R2-D2.

And the figure on the right………

“Master?” A silvery voice called down, so much fragile hope in it that Vader felt his breath catch. She was several years older than when he had seen her depart for Mandalore with half of the 501st… just before Order 66. Maybe only three years older, though. Luke looked like he was about three.

“Ahsoka,” Kenobi said, his voice calm and quiet, but his Force presence a rictus of its normal equilibrium. His sophisticated, regal tone carried clearly up towards the four people. Vader felt the sudden spike of joy spilling through his former Padawan before she launched herself down the dune, using the Force to land unhurt at the bottom. She ran straight towards Obi-Wan, who opened his arms wide and caught her as she threw herself at him. His arms closed tight around the young Togruta, his cheek pressed against her montrals, as he hugged her to him. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he murmured into her ear.

Vader heard Ahsoka choke back tears and wrap her long legs even tighter around Obi-Wan. “I thought you were dead.” And her voice cracked.

“I’m safe, little one,” Obi-Wan reassured her. “And so are you.”

Vader was sure the others could not see them, was sure that no one noticed as a tear escaped down his cheek despite his best efforts. But then he looked up to find Obi-Wan’s eyes on his. He held that gaze, brilliant blue on intense blue-grey, until excited whistling heralded Artoo’s arrival as he landed before them in a shower of sand and aided by his rocket boosters. 

The droid greeted Kenobi with the most excited series of chirps and beeps that Vader had ever heard from him. Obi-Wan disengaged one arm from around Ahsoka – who was refusing to let go – and laid it gently on Artoo’s dome. “It is good to see you again as well, my friend. Do I have you to thank for this reunion?”

Ahsoka smiled through her tears, wiping them away with one hand as she stepped back a bit from Kenobi but kept her other hand gripping his arm, as though afraid he would vanish on her if she did otherwise. “Artoo kidnapped me,” she explained. “Senator Organa loaned him to me for a mission, and instead of arriving where I was supposed to, Artoo took me to Tatooine.”

She turned to face the woman – Beru Whitesun Lars, Vader realized after a moment – who had made it down the dune and was smiling softly as she came up to the other three.

“Beru,” Kenobi greeted her warmly. Little Luke was stretching his arms out impatiently towards Kenobi. Beru handed him over and Vader watched as Kenobi’s face softened as he held the child. “Hello, young Luke,” he called softly, letting the child play with his greying beard.

Vader watched, awed, as his son reached out and placed both of his little hands on either side of Obi-Wan’s face. He felt the child’s bight Force presence reaching out instinctively towards the Jedi Master, offering comfort for the hurt he could feel.

“Thank you, Luke,” Obi-Wan said, his smile adoring. His eyes slid until they met Vader’s still watching the scene before him hungrily. His gaze seemed to say, ‘Do you see your son, Anakin?’

“And who is this little man?” Ahsoka asked, reaching out to touch the hand Luke waved at her joyfully. “I felt his presence in the Force when I stopped to ask for directions, but you know him Master?” There was a resonance to her voice that said she had an idea and was hoping beyond hope that she was right.

“You did not tell her Luke’s last name?” Kenobi asked Beru Lars.

“I did not,” Beru said. “The little droid informed me that this woman was a friend of yours. I recognized him from…. the last time he visited. And her lightsabers were not red. So, I thought it best to take her here to meet you, especially as Owen is in Anchorhead for the day.” 

Kenobi’s voice was crisp and regal. “Thank you, Beru. You did exactly right. This is Ahsoka Tano, she was Anakin’s former Padawan……..his student in the ways of the Jedi,” he elaborated when Beru looked momentarily confused. 

Obi-Wan turned so that Luke was fully facing the Togruta Jedi. “Ahsoka Tano,” he said formally, “I would like you to meet Luke Skywalker.”

Later, much later, after Beru and Luke had left, and Artoo was powered down in Obi-Wan’s modest dwelling, Vader watched as Ahsoka and Obi-Wan stood on the cliff outside the house and watched the setting suns. Ahsoka’s head rested on Kenobi’s shoulder and one arm was hooked through his. 

Vader stood on Obi-Wan’s other side. There was a little more peace to both than there had been before.

“What are we going to do, Master?” Ahsoka murmured. She tried to sound merely inquiring but Vader could hear the lost tone in her voice.

Obi-Wan hmm’d in thought and raised his free hand to stroke his beard. Vader watched Ahsoka’s eyes follow the movement, trying to soak up everything the older Jedi did as though she still could not believe that he stood beside her.

After a long moment Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Anakin….” And if he stumbled over the name a little, Vader thought he was the only one to notice. “Anakin always told me that one day he would come back and free all the slaves here.”

Ahsoka pulled away at that, watching Obi-Wan carefully. “But we are not Jedi anymore, Master.” At his calm look of inquiry, as though he was silently challenging her assumptions – and boy was Vader familiar with that look, the look of a Jedi Master – she hastened to add, “I mean, we cannot be seen to be Jedi, Master.”

“No, indeed we cannot,” Obi-Wan agreed. “We do not wish to draw the Empire here, and not only for Luke’s sake. Therefore, we must find another way.”

“Senator Organa would help us,” Ahsoka offered. “He told me once that what happened to Anakin was a tragedy.”

“Yes,” Kenobi said, softly, and offered no more. Together they watched the twin suns of Tatooine disappear below the horizon.

Vader found himself back on the Executor. For once the ever-present roiling of despair and hatred which fueled his connection to the Dark Side was silent. It had…….it had never occurred to him as Darth Vader to return to Tatooine to free all the slaves. He must have been made aware that slavery was no longer present on Tatooine, but he could not remember who had told him this or when he had found out. He had just no longer cared about it.

But, for his sake……no, for Anakin Skywalker’s sake, his former master and former Padawan had decided to find a way to stop it.

Darth Vader sat staring at Kenobi’s lightsaber, lying so innocently in his right hand, long into the sleep cycle. He did not get any rest that day. 

 

&……&……&……&…….&…….&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: And we still don’t know how Maz Kanata obtained Obi-Wan’s chest from his house on Tatooine. (You know, the chest she pulled Anakin’s lightsaber out of? The one Rey opened before she had her vision? The one where you can see a shot of Ahoska’s Padawan beads in?) Obi-Wan’s memory of Luminara is from one of the EU books. I can’t remember which one, or I would cite it. But it is most assuredly not mine. I just loved that Obi-Wan remembered that about her when he was stuck on Tatooine. The scene between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka (their reunion) is the one thing I ABSOLUTELY need in the upcoming Kenobi movie.


	5. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. Ever since watching The Clone Wars, I’ve realized that Vader’s redemption back towards the Light must have been a gradual process – small trickles of running water wearing away rock – instead of the one big moment of epiphany, as he watched Luke being tortured, that I thought it was as a child. Watching Rebels, seeing Ahsoka cut open Vader’s helmet and his conflict in fighting her, confirmed that. Obi-Wan returning with Anakin’s grown-up son was another step. And Obi-Wan’s death was yet another. I feel like all of these moments Obi-Wan gives to Vader in this story are further wearing away of the rock. 
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains explicit content and inappropriate use of the Force (what else do you expect from Darth Vader?).

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, and second only to Emperor Palpatine within the expansive borders of the Empire, was in the midst of performing some interior decorating. He took a step back to view his placement of the bed – newly purchased – within the confines of his personal chambers. The previous bed had been little more than a slab because most of his sleeping hours were spent within a special stasis chamber, built to make sure none of his scarred skin touched any type of physical surface and programmed to routinely inject him with sedatives. But Kenobi’s lightsaber required contact with Vader’s skin before it would show him anything, and this was easiest while the Dark Lord slept. So, Vader required a more comfortable bed: in the name of research into the ways of the Force, of course.

Besides, he had begun to dream lately, for the first time in many years, and he was loath to give it up. He had heard Padmé’s laugh again only two days ago and Fives……Fives from the 501st, who had died towards the end of the Clone Wars before Anakin could save him, he had seen Fives again last night. 'Now, there will be no more nightmares,' the man had whispered, relieved, as he died. Those words replayed over and over in Vader’s head as he gave another Force-push to the bed to make sure it was perfectly situated underneath the holograph he had also…..acquired. The holograph had given him some difficulty. At first, he had tried to find a picture of the Royal Palace in Theed, in memory of his wife.

But looking through the art which had been confiscated by the Empire, he had been continuously drawn towards a rather simple picture of the city of Aldera, capital of Alderaan. Alderaan was no more, but looking at the beautiful, gentle greens and blues in the picture, the vibrant white of the snow-capped mountains in the background, the sleek silver of the buildings, Vader remembered his visit there with Obi-Wan when he was only fourteen, and he had listened to his intuition and taken that holograph instead.

Now it hung, huge and serene, a spot of vibrant color in the otherwise-stark nature of his quarters, above the new – and larger – bed. Finally satisfied, Vader departed for his bacta tank. He found himself uncharacteristically…..excited. Afterwards, as he disrobed entirely before sliding under the sheets, he removed all of his prosthetics. There was no one to observe him in this room, no one to report to his Master what he was doing. Sidious liked to control every aspect of his Apprentice’s existence and Vader knew he would not approve of this alteration in his routine. He vaguely wondered what his Master would make of the new bed and painting in his chambers, for he had no doubt that someone was already on their way to inform him – if they had not done so already. At the last second, he kept his right arm prosthetic in place. This one was still the original from his days back in the Clone Wars. It had been made by the Jedi Healers at the Temple, specially crafted to fit his needs and body, and was still the best quality of all his prosthetics. It had been a part of him for so long that Vader left it in place.

He slid under the cool sheets and called Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to him from where he had left it along the far wall. He rolled over onto his right side, ignoring the twinges from nerve endings long-used to sedatives and the Force for assistance, ignoring the ever-present pain which accompanied his every moment and reminded him of his anger and loss, and pressed the cool metal of the weapon to his lips. The kyber crystal hummed – one pulse of light – and Vader was gone.

He opened his eyes to darkness. It was a warm sort of darkness, slightly sticky from the humidity in the air. Vader could smell dust, recently settled by a rainstorm, and the heavy scent of vegetation. He rolled over, could feel the smooth movement of his muscles, the heavy feel of his limbs, and a faint sheen of sweat along his skin. The air was cooling as night advanced. 

Above him was the coarse fabric of a standard, military-issue Army tent. Lying next to him was…Obi-Wan. His Master’s even breathing was comforting and familiar, and his arm was warm where it pressed against Anakin’s own. On his left was a faint glow from the entrance flap to the tent and beyond it, Vader knew, was the campfire of the 501st and the 212th. They were in the Meridian sector, he knew, about two weeks into a push against General Lott Dodd that was supposed to have only taken three or four days.

Rex and Cody had finally persuaded their two Jedi Generals to get some rest, as the Seps had tactically withdrawn for awhile and they had a brief respite. Ahsoka was on duty, and Anakin could faintly hear her voice excitedly explaining something, and Rex’s fond, dry answers. They must have been seated around the fire. There was the faint murmur of other Clone voices, the steady tramp of a pair of soldiers on patrol, and the buzz of a distant Separatist spy ship.

Anakin listened to it for a moment but it did not appear to grow any closer, so he let himself relax once more. He could feel Obi-Wan’s warm, golden presence in the Force, nudging gently against his own. It was as good as a gentle kiss, a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

A peel of laughter burst out from the Clones, before it was hastily silenced by Rex’s sharp bark of command. Anakin wondered with no small amount of chagrin which story Ahsoka was telling them about him and Obi-Wan; she knew some pretty embarrassing ones by now.

He rolled over onto his left side, facing the glow coming from under the tent, and smiled to himself. It was good that she still bonded with the troops; he knew that the heavy death toll amongst their men hit her as hard as it did himself. He had thought, once, that Obi-Wan was better at accepting the death of the men under his command but he had come to realize, recently, that Obi-Wan was just better at hiding it.

His Master was always so in control of himself. Anakin had once mused to Padmé about what it would take to get Obi-Wan to finally lose that strict control over his own needs and desires, and she had given him such a look that he had dropped the subject. He still had no idea what had been behind that look – which had included bemused exasperation – but the uncomfortable silence in the room afterwards convinced him that it was something important.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even been willing to get some shut eye tonight – even though he had been up for four standard rotations straight – if Anakin hadn’t plied him with alcohol. ‘It’s a local herbal drink and supposed to promote health,’ he had told his Master, trying desperately to ignore Ahsoka’s snigger, and Obi-Wan had been so exhausted that he hadn’t even questioned Anakin, or the bitter, astringent taste of the beverage. He had downed it gamely and within half an hour Anakin had to all-but carry him to bed. There weren’t enough supplies, or space, for even the Generals to get their own private tents, and Anakin had been up for almost as long as Obi-Wan, so he’d lain down next to the older Jedi and been asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

Now, though, he found himself too wired to sleep. He stared into the darkness and let himself be soothed by the gentle ebb and flow of his Master’s sleeping Force presence.

With a sigh and a soft murmur, Obi-Wan rolled over and pressed himself against Anakin’s back, one arm draped loosely over his former Padawan’s hip, as he unconsciously sought out warmth. The cool, damp air was growing steadily colder. Anakin shivered as Obi-Wan’s beard rubbed against the back of his neck, his Master’s lips brushing the skin there. He rested the back of his head gently against Obi-Wan’s forehead and brought his left hand up to interlace his fingers with Obi-Wan’s right, dangling just within his field of view.

'Better,' Anakin thought and felt his eyes drift closed. He felt warm and…wanted. He felt Obi-Wan growing hard against the curve of his ass, and didn’t resist as – with a quiet, almost-needy whine – Obi-Wan pulled him back harder against his body. Obi-Wan was firm and muscular in all the right places and Anakin wasn’t surprised to find that he fit perfectly against the older man. With an almost inaudible sigh of his own, he pushed his hips back, nestling Obi-Wan’s erect penis into the curves of his buttocks through the thin sleep pants they both wore.

His breathing began to pick up, although he kept his eyes firmly closed, and a spark traveled through him from head to toe, before heading straight to his cock, as Obi-Wan sleepily groaned and tried to thrust even further.

Everything around them was quiet and still. Even the voices outside had stopped.

Anakin could feel his heart pounding in fear and anticipation. Force, what he was doing was so wrong. This was Obi-Wan! He had never even….

With a moan, Anakin pulled Obi-Wan’s hand – still interlaced with his – down past the waistband of his sleep pants and placed it around his own now-throbbing erection.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this….but he wanted it so much. Obi-Wan was now in that place halfway between sleep and awareness. He must have thought he was dreaming. With a grunt he managed to wrap his other arm under and around Anakin, tilting the younger man’s head back until he had access to Anakin’s neck. With a sigh he pressed his lips there, sucking and licking and biting gently over Anakin’s pulse point, as his right hand closed firmly around Anakin’s cock and began pulling, and his hips snapped up again deep between the curves of Anakin’s ass.

Anakin cried out, moaning louder and louder as the glorious heat built up. Obi-Wan’s hips took on an erratic rhythm, alternating with his firm stroking of Anakin’s cock. All Anakin could feel was Obi-Wan, all he could hear were their breathless pants and moans in the dark quiet of the tent. Heat and ecstasy were pooling deep within him, rising up in an inexorable tidal wave, growing stronger and stronger until Anakin thought they would sweep him away. The noises he was making would have embarrassed him at any other time. Obi-Wan groaned, his breath catching, as Anakin thrust backwards again, wanting more, needing more, needing Obi-Wan deep within him, right now.

His Master gave a twist to Anakin’s cock, his hips snapping up once more, his breath hot and moist on Anakin’s cheek as his lips brushed maddeningly against the smooth skin there. “Come for me, Anakin,” and his voice – that smooth, crisp, regal voice – was utterly wrecked with want and desire.

And Anakin came, his back arching, cum exploding out of him, Obi-Wan still pulling on his cock and milking every drop. He felt Obi-Wan shuddering against him in his own release, felt his Master’s muffled, drawn out moan.

He sank, limp, back into his Master’s embrace, his heart still pounding madly in his ears. He had never….that had been….

“Master,” he croaked, his own voice utterly ruined.

Obi-Wan, his arms still tight around Anakin, hmm’d absently, low in his throat, already slipping back into unconsciousness. Anakin twisted around in the older Jedi’s embrace; needing to see Obi-Wan, needing to feel his Master pressed against his front, feel the sticky, rapidly-cooling evidence of what had just occurred between them.

He pressed himself along the length of his Master, feeling the jolt through Obi-Wan as their over-stimulated cocks brushed each other through the rough fabric of their ruined clothing. Anakin’s lips pressed against Obi-Wan’s bearded chin, watching as his Master’s eyes fluttered, fighting to open. His lips traveled higher, brushing over silky skin….almost….

With a start, Vader woke. His heart pounded in his ears, his breathing came in gasps…and he was achingly hard. The lightsaber was a cool weight along his arm. Vader hadn’t had an erection since the suit went on, and now his cock was throbbing, straining upwards, leaking cum at the slit, and rapidly turning purple. He was so hard that it was almost painful. He moaned loudly in the silent room, turning over onto his front and rutting unsteadily into the bed sheets, desperate for any friction he could find. His face pressed despairingly into the cool sheets, moans and frantic grunts escaping him as he rubbed himself, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more, now.

His right metal arm was the only limb which remained to him. Frantic, he rolled over onto his back again and reached down.

Gasping at the sensation, he wrapped the cold metal digits around his aching member, desperately trying to recall the rough calluses on Obi-Wan’s hand. He pulled desperately on his cock, closing his eyes and reaching out towards the Force. A phantom presence pressed against his ass, warm and golden, an echo of the crystal in the lightsaber which hummed by his side, and which he pulled towards himself. And that was all it took.

As the presence, hard and throbbing, nestled between his buttocks, Vader’s hips canted desperately off the bed and when he landed he pulled it deeply within himself. One last, almost-painful, tug on his straining erection and he was coming, shouting, white streams of hot fluid shooting over him and across the new, clean linens of the bed.

Vader moaned as he came down from his high. “Obi-Wan,” he murmured breathlessly, moaning again as one, last spark traveled through his entire body and true sleep pulled him under at last.

 

&……&……&……&…….&…….&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader is still confused.


	6. Padawan Braid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos. I really appreciate all of them and am trying to respond as quickly as possible.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit content and inappropriate use of the Force. Potentially inappropriate relationship, but it’s Darth Vader so everything manages to be inappropriate with him.

Anakin and Obi-Wan were having an argument.

At least, that’s what Darth Vader assumed was going on; there had been so many of them when he had been Obi-Wan’s apprentice. Their personalities had clashed and Anakin had always chafed under authority. He’d appeared right in the middle of it and there was a lot of screaming. If he was being honest with himself – which he generally tried not to do anymore – Anakin was doing almost all of it. Obi-Wan, with his arms folded across his chest and his blue-grey eyes narrowed to shards of ice, was holding himself rigidly in control. They were standing in the middle of their shared apartments in the Jedi Temple. Outside, the day was overcast, with heavy grey clouds covering the entirety of the sky. A row of houseplants – Obi-Wan’s latest attempt at horticulture in memory of Qui-Gon – were lined up before the largest window, located in the sitting room.

Vader took a chance to look around the place again; it had been a very long time since he had set foot in this part of the Jedi Temple and the last time he had been in these memories he had been overwhelmed by Anakin’s recollections of losing his arm and had needed all of his attention on Obi-Wan to follow his Master into meditation and towards acceptance.

But now Vader was able to differentiate himself a bit from Anakin Skywalker’s thoughts and emotions; enough at least for him to glance around the place with Vader’s consciousness when Anakin gave up on just shouting at Obi-Wan and began to pace the living area like a caged animal.

His Master followed his progress with absolutely no more emotion on his face than he had had at the start of this confrontation. Vader felt a flare of……something; anger, or frustration maybe. That was one of the things about his former Master which had always driven him to distraction or rage. Kenobi had always been able to retreat behind a façade of perfect serenity and Anakin had always ached to destroy it – to get his Master to burn with the same overwhelming emotions that had consumed him.

Once again, Obi-Wan refused to oblige. Anakin was going to scream himself hoarse, Vader noted dispassionately, and went back to observing his surroundings.

Although the Emperor had converted the Temple into his own private palace after Order 66, as one final dig at his old adversaries, Vader had never set foot in his and Obi-Wan’s apartments since just after the suit had gone on. He remembered that day. He had only been up and about for a week before he had stormed up here. It had been only a fortnight since either he or Obi-Wan had lived here but he remembered the little row of dead plants, forlorn before their window, and the layer of dust which coated everything. The drawers had been gone through hurriedly, as if Obi-Wan had returned and desperately searched for something.

Vader – who had thought that he would smash everything in the place out of spite, and in fury at his former Master’s betrayal – found himself frozen as though he had entered a tomb. The day had been dark as well, as though Coruscant could find nothing for which to shine the sun. He had merely listened to his mechanical breathing, wondering what Obi-Wan had torn the rooms apart to find. At last, he stalked into his own room. Everything in here was just as he had left it – the clutter of machine parts everywhere, the dirty clothing strewn about, the holonovel he had been reading last – and he found himself sitting on his unmade bed. Everything was so familiar….and yet everything else had changed. Forever. He absently opened the draw to the nightstand by his bed and he finally realized what was different.

Ahsoka’s padawan beads were gone. He stared at the last spot where he had put them. Kenobi must have taken them. He must have gone through…Anakin’s things and taken them. The last memory of Ahsoka which he’d had, and Obi-Wan had stolen it! Just like he had stolen Anakin’s wife and unborn child. Just like he had taken Anakin’s limbs. Anakin had been left with nothing, because of him!

His fury rose up in him then and the resultant Force-storm of Dark Side energy had torn the rooms apart.

Now though, Vader watched the row of plants – green and lush, surprisingly, for Obi-Wan was no gardener and Anakin had never cared for plants – waving gently in the air blowing from the vents. The kitchen was immaculate, the circular table with two chairs – Obi-Wan would eventually add a third for Ahsoka – was clean and neat. The countertops sparkled. The kitchen had been Obi-Wan’s domain during Anakin’s apprenticeship, never mind that the older man was a terrible cook and could barely keep himself fed, let alone his Padawan. After Anakin graduated to Jedi Knight, it had often fallen to him to make sure they both got enough to eat, as well as something that was actually edible. He had grown to become quick a good cook himself, and if Obi-Wan’s eye would twitch at the mess Anakin always made of the kitchen, at least he was allowed in as a Jedi Knight, and Obi-Wan always complimented the food his former Padawan made him.

Vader allowed himself to be drawn back into Anakin’s current feelings. The boy was still pacing the room, occasionally waving his arms around and hurling words like weapons towards his Master. And he was indeed a still a boy; a youth just over the cusp of manhood but still unaware of it. Vader could feel the long, ungainly limbs of his body as he loped around the room, always keeping Obi-Wan in sight. His hair was cropped short and his padawan braid swung as he moved. He must have been about eighteen, a year before the Clone Wars started, and right after he’d had his final growth spurt. He was still growing into this body, the bones of his face sharpening into adulthood and his voice deepening finally, but he was still slender with youth.

He could feel Obi-Wan’s implacable gaze upon him. “You never listen to me and it’s just not fair!” He screamed, knowing his face was red and blotchy. They had been off-world on a mission to Corellia and while Obi-Wan negotiated with the mining guild representative there, and tried to mediate between him and the current Corellian government – and its belligerent king – he had asked Anakin to entertain the Guild Master’s young daughter. 

“Just be polite to her, Anakin,” his Master had suggested. “Take her for a walk around the gardens. See if you can find out anything of her father’s plans for iridium mining in the Jurgarian Mountains.”

Anakin had tried; he honestly had. But the girl had been spoiled and insipid, and then she had started bad-mouthing Obi-Wan. Anakin Force-shoved her violently into some prickly hedges and smirked at her resultant shrieks. The fact that there had been a nest of stinging insects in there had merely been a bonus. 

Obi-Wan though, had been extremely unimpressed. He had lectured Anakin all the way home, made a report to the Council during which he had resolutely not said anything about Anakin’s actions, which had caused Master Windu to start eyeing the young Padawan suspiciously, and gone straight back to their rooms. He had fixed Anakin with his clear, piercing gaze then and said, mildly, “Why do you never listen to me, Anakin.” He had sounded…disappointed. Anakin’s greatest fear had always been to disappoint his Master.

He adored Obi-Wan, admired the older man immensely. Obi-Wan was just so perfect, graceful and serene, powerful and controlled. There was nothing that he couldn’t do, no hurdle he couldn’t overcome. Anakin couldn’t conceive of an enemy who could ever defeat his Master, and he knew that the Jedi Council, in particular Master Yoda, thought higher of his Obi-Wan than they did of almost anyone else in the entire Jedi Order. It was only a matter of time before they made Obi-Wan a Master and offered him a seat on the Council. Anakin wanted to become a Jedi just like his Master, but he feared he would never truly measure up to Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

And so, facing his Master’s disappointment in him yet again, he remembered Palpatine’s commiseration with Anakin’s frustration with Obi-Wan. “Your Master, as fine a Jedi as I am sure he is said to be, is overly-critical, my young friend,” he had said sadly, placing a gentle hand on Anakin’s arm. “He does not understand you. You may rest assured that I will always be understanding of your difficulties with such an inflexible and… limited Master, Anakin. And one day, you can show the Jedi exactly how worthy you are, and perhaps change the Jedi Order for good.” 

Anakin had remembered those words in the face of Obi-Wan’s disapproval and snapped, started yelling and shouting, and here they now were.

Obi-Wan was just so….so…..beautiful….Anakin admitted to himself as he spun around again to hurl another salvo and found himself momentarily stumped for words. His Master’s auburn hair was longer than it ever would be again, curling gently past his ears, soft and shining. Anakin ached to run his hands through the locks, watch them shift like silk through his fingers. Obi-Wan’s lips looked soft and plush, despite the thin line they were currently pressed in. He was biting them in frustration, drawing Anakin’s eyes to them. They reddened as he worried at them with his teeth and Anakin felt a flash of desire shoot through him as he imagined what they would look like after Anakin had kissed him. A flush suffused his Master’s cheeks, annoyance and impatience, but to Anakin’s suddenly fevered imaginings there was a different cause. The usually cool Obi-Wan Kenobi looked on the verge of losing his temper. 

With a start of surprise, which almost had him coming out of the moment, Vader remembered his younger self’s fervent and unceasing crush on his Master. He remembered the wet fantasies he had had, the erotic dreams he had woken from, his sheets wet and sticky, and the furious wanking he had done every time he and Obi-Wan had gotten into an argument. He had forgotten that somehow….how had he forgotten it? It came flooding back to him now, the way his eyes would follow the older Jedi’s every movement, yearning and desperate for any hint of reciprocation. His later obsession with Padmé had been so all-consuming, his belief in Obi-Wan’s unobtainable nature so absolute, his fear of losing even his Master’s friendship should he confess it so acute, that he had suppressed it.

But here they were again, just the two of them before it all went wrong, and Vader…Vader wanted.

A lock of hair fell across Obi-Wan’s face as he gestured sharply. “Anakin, that’s enough,” he snapped, his voice utterly commanding. “I will not have you behaving in this unseemly fashion.” That tone of authority, issued in that beloved voice, had Anakin’s lips parting in a silent gasp, heat flooding his body as his cock twitched and began to harden. 

Anakin growled low in his throat. In three quick strides he was across the room, his hands shoving Obi-Wan back, hard. His Master stumbled, surprised, back hitting the wall behind him. He looked suddenly flustered as Anakin shoved his rapidly hardening dick against his Master’s hip, and his hands came up to push against Anakin’s chest and hold him back. 

“Padawan, release me at once.” Obi-Wan wasn’t alarmed any more. His eyes flashed as they fixed on Anakin’s own and he raised his eyebrows, challenging and never even giving so much as an inch. He was so…so Obi-Wan in that moment that Anakin shivered, tendrils of heat racing through his body. He wanted….he needed all that power and control fixed on him, and only him. Needed it like he needed oxygen. Had wanted it for what felt like his whole life. Obi-Wan was warm, almost hot, where he pressed up against Anakin, his knee pushed between Anakin’s groin at an awkward angle as he attempted to maintain his distance from the younger man. As that knee shifted a bit, seeking balance, it brushed against Anakin’s straining cock. A strangled groan escaped Anakin’s lips as his hips bucked violently, his erection pulsing and desperate for contact. He rubbed against his Master, hips flexing, attempting to press that knee more firmly into his groin. His cock ached and throbbed from the increased friction, a sudden wave of desire almost engulfing him and bringing him over the edge. He stilled for a second, grunting as he attempted to hold onto that high. “Ah, Master,” he cried softly, distressed when he could not. His hips bucked again without his permission, seeking greater friction and warmth and his Master’s hands on him. It was not enough, he needed more! Obi-Wan’s knee wavered a bit as the younger man rutted against him, fast and hard and desperate, gasping at the sensation he felt with each thrust of his hips, and Anakin used that brief opening to finally shift his hips fully against his Master’s. 

He moaned loudly as he finally brushed Obi-Wan’s crotch with his own. His Master was half-hard already and Anakin rubbed himself wantonly against that firm heat, so much better than his bed, so much warmer than even Obi-Wan’s hands. He strained, desperately, trying to push closer, aching for more. Their bond burned between them like fire, echoing Anakin’s desire and need for Obi-Wan over and over.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan barked, but his arms were trembling a bit where they held Anakin back, and his voice sounded suddenly strained. Anakin darted a glance at his face, at his flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes. He looked disheveled and Anakin felt another wave of want crash through him. He bit his bottom lip, flexed his hips again into the older man’s, watching as an involuntary gasp left those perfect lips and Obi-Wan’s eyes fixed on his mouth.

“Make me, Master,” Anakin demanded hoarsely. “Make me.” And now it was more of a plea, almost a whine. He jerked his hips once more, his cock throbbing, his pulse thundering in his ears as spots danced across his vision. Obi-Wan was so close, his dick rapidly stiffening against Anakin’s own. Anakin could see it tenting Obi-Wan’s pants, straining now, burning hot against Anakin’s. He was close, so very close, just a little bit more. He needed just a little bit more. He moaned again, urgently, ashamed of how quickly it took him to reach this point, even as his cock began to leak and his hips spasmed erratically upwards again, grinding his weeping erection against his Master’s. But Anakin had wanted Obi-Wan for so long….and Vader had no control at all. It had been far too long since he had done anything remotely like this. Last night, in the tent, with Obi-Wan’s hands on his cock, his lips on his neck, his throbbing penis pressed as far up Anakin’s ass as their pants would allow them, had been addicting. It had been hot and fast and overwhelming, and he needed it again and again and again. 

Vader had tumbled over orgasm twice. Then he had awoken in the middle of the night, hard and leaking once more, the memory of his Master’s wonderful voice sounding in his ears, the ragged moan as he came, hips jerking against Anakin, his perfect control in utter tatters around him. That had been all that was needed for Vader to be brought to that edge once more, his metal hand pulling frantically at his cock, before he had turned onto his front again, rutting into the bed as hard as he could, hand pulling and kneading his balls, and the Force shaped hard and huge against his bare arse, hot and pulsing like Obi-Wan’s cock had been, as he drove it into himself as deep as he could. He had been so full that he had exploded hard enough his vision went dark for a moment, his ears ringing, moaning Obi-Wan’s name over and over again, gasping for air through ravaged lungs.

Vader hadn’t been able to concentrate for the entire next day. He had been transferred to the Executor, charged with scouting the Atollan system for Rebel activity, exhausted from his exertions during the night and wired from the erection he had woken up to in the morning. He had only had enough time to quickly wank before his shuttle arrived, still aching and aroused and sore when he was done, and had almost Force-choked numerous subordinates over their subsequent inane problems, his patience all-but non-existent. All he could feel was a desperate need to retreat back to his chambers with Kenobi’s lightsaber and feel the man all over him, in him, again. 

That thought – Obi-Wan buried deep within him, filling him up completely, driving into him again and again until all he could feel was his Master – had had Vader stalking to his private refresher unit, frantically trying to twist the Force to reach through the suit and wrap around his renewed, completely-stiff erection, hips thrusting back against a pressure that wasn’t there. It only required one Force brush against his member, one thrust shallowly into his arse, before he was coming again, his legs shaking until even the metal most of his limbs were made of could barely support him. He was a randy teenager all over again he despaired, as his respirator struggled to catch up with his breathing and he rested his helmet against the wall of the ‘fresher. In fact, it had never been this bad even when he was a teenager. He cleaned himself up, resolutely trying to ignore the fact that he was still aroused, his cock twitching as he gently brushed metal digits over it.

When he had prepared himself to go into the bacta tank after the day had finally, finally, ended, he had reached his right metal hand down, fondling his balls as he attempted to recall Padmé’s beautiful face to his mind, feel her smooth lips around his cock. But the memory of her did nothing and his erection withered. He had growled in anger, wondering if the memories of her weren’t enough because of Kenobi’s lightsaber.   
But it wasn’t a memory, what had happened between him and Obi-Wan in the tent. None of that had actually occurred. Anakin remembered Obi-Wan pressed against him, remembered his hard cock digging into his ass, had felt the lightning threads of desire and want shooting through him…and remembered being so tired that he fell asleep. He had felt safe and loved in that moment. He awoke to Obi-Wan rolling away from him with a muffled curse and stumbling away towards their private refresher. He had been in there a long time, but Anakin had been too sleepy to take note of that, and had merely assumed the man had eaten something that disagreed with him, or been throwing up from the alcohol. He had fallen asleep again before Obi-Wan returned.

That hadn’t been a memory, so what was it? His desire? Obi-Wan’s? He hadn’t even remembered feeling desire towards Kenobi, and surely his old Master hadn’t felt anything for him. Obi-Wan was too in control of his own emotions to ever feel something like that. Let alone try and share it with the man….the thing, his Padawan had become. Could psychometry even do that? Vader was almost positive that it couldn’t.

“Please, Master,” Anakin whined again, canting his hips up, rubbing shamelessly against the older Jedi. Obi-Wan’s breath caught deep in his throat and his eyes closed as though in sudden pain or overwhelming sensation. “Please,” he whispered again, delighting in Obi-Wan’s twitch at his soft voice and pleading request, the shudder that ran through his entire body. Oh, Obi-Wan wanted him too. 

Anakin would never forget the rough, lust-filled sound Obi-Wan made in the next moment. His left hand moved from Anakin’s chest to tangle roughly in Anakin’s padawan braid, and then he was pulling it harshly towards him, dragging Anakin close to him. The sharp pain, the utterly possessive gesture, caused Anakin to moan again as he was brought roughly against his Master’s chest. He buried his flushed face into the hollow of his Master’s throat, nuzzling the flesh there, shivering as Obi-Wan’s remaining hand moved down to cup his ass and haul the younger man even harder against him. Obi-Wan twisted his hips at the same time, crushing his rock-hard erection against the younger man’s quivering, weeping cock again and again, his left hand dragging on Anakin’s padawan braid demandingly. Anakin moaned volubly, too overwhelmed and dizzy to do anything but wrap his arms around his Master and hold on. “Yes,” he moaned, “yes,” and then he lost words as Obi-Wan’s left hand moved down under his tunics, past the waist band of his pants, and in one, firm movement, wrapped tight around Anakin’s dick. It throbbed in Obi-Wan’s grasp, thick and hot to the touch. Anakin jerked in Obi-Wan’s hold. His Master stroked it once, from tip to base, twirling his finger around the leaking head, and then he twisted, just once. 

Anakin felt a golden wave of heat pulse through him from head to toe, felt his hips jerk erratically, rising, and he cried out as he was……

Obi-Wan’s hand was suddenly tight around the base of his cock, pinching hard, stopping him. Anakin cried out feebly, frantic for relief, as his legs spasmed like jelly and refused to hold him any longer, but Obi-Wan hauled him up, one-handed, the other still grasped tight around his twitching cock. Anakin mewed desperately. “Obi-Wan…..Obi-Wan, please,” he begged, all dignity forgotten, thrusting shallowly into his Master’s grip.

“Ah, ah,” Obi-Wan tsked gently, breath warm against Anakin’s burning cheek as he nuzzled there, his prickly beard sending pinpricks of sensation down Anakin’s spine. “Not yet, dear one.”

He carried Anakin over to the couch, placing the trembling young man in his lap, before pulling the hand around Anakin’s cock away. Anakin immediately tried to grind against the bulging hardness he felt beneath him, but was stopped by his Master’s firm grasp around his waist. The older Jedi tugged on Anakin’s pants and Anakin lifted his hips obediently, wriggling a bit to pull them down enough to free his engorged cock. Obi-Wan paused for a moment then, his gaze hooded and dark, before he swirled one finger along the pulsing vein which travelled the erect, dark-red length of Anakin’s now-quivering member. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and Anakin moaned tightly at that voice, the want in it, helplessly grinding down again. “Not yet,” Obi-Wan said again, quietly, and the authority in his tone had Anakin holding on to any shreds of control he could find as he stilled himself atop the other man.

His hands reached down, trying to touch his Master, and Obi-Wan obliged by pulling his own pants down enough that they were finally skin to skin.

Anakin had seen his Master naked plenty of times but never before like this. Obi-Wan was rock-hard, his hips undulating lazily, the tip of his cock pressing every so often against Anakin’s. He was thick and full and perfect, his intense eyes never leaving the sweaty, desperate, shaking boy on his lap.

“Now,” Obi-Wan all-but whispered his crisp voice a definite command. “I want you to get off without being touched, Anakin.” His hands moved again, one possessively grabbing Anakin’s hip and the other back up to tangle in his braid. He tugged and Anakin melted against him, face pressed into his Master’s shoulder, rocking his hips hard against the other man’s. They both gasped at the sensation. It was so much better, so much more intense, with just skin between them. Anakin did it again and again, setting up as much of a rhythm as he was able, getting more and more erratic as that delicious pressure built within him. Obi-Wan matched him, raising his hips until he pressed his entire length against Anakin, their cocks rubbing harsh and rough, send sparks shooting up them both from where they touched.

Anakin was an incoherent mess of want and need, moaning against his Master’s skin, desperately chasing that release, feeling pleasure rise higher and higher. Then Obi-Wan swept a rough, callused hand down Anakin’s spine, skating over the swell of his buttocks and skimming tantalizingly over Anakin’s quivering hole. Sobbing with relief, Anakin was there, tumbling over the edge, warm fluid spreading between them as he ejaculated in harsh release and collapsed, boneless, in his Master’s arms.

Obi-Wan’s hands skated soothingly over his back and rose to brush through his hair. “Good boy,” he murmured, humming approvingly. Anakin gasped for breath and brushed his lips along his Master’s sweat-covered throat before he noticed Obi-Wan was still hard against him.

Shakily, he pushed himself off the older Jedi’s lap until he was kneeling on the carpet, looking up at his disheveled Master, panting. He reached out his hand – his right, still whole and unblemished, Vader realized with no small amount of awe – and tentatively grasped his Master’s twitching cock. Obi-Wan canted his hips up, watching him silently. Anakin took a deep breath, he had dreamed of this moment for so long.  
In one motion, before his nerve got the better of him, he bent forward and wrapped his lips around as much of his Master’s cock as would fit in his mouth. Obi-Wan gave a strangled grunt, half-muffling a curse, as his hips jerked and his head fell back against the couch. A soft, breathy sigh escaped from between his lips as Anakin began to suck. His hands found their way into Anakin’s short hair, twisting in his braid, guiding him as Anakin bobbed up and down on the hot length. 

He swirled his tongue around the pre-cum, before taking Obi-Wan in even further, until his nose brushed the wiry hairs around the base. He breathed in Obi-Wan’s scent greedily before setting up a rhythm under Obi-Wan’s instruction. Quiet moans escaped from his Master as Anakin increased his pace and ran his hands along the insides of his Master’s thighs. Obi-Wan was trying to keep his hips still for Anakin, but a quick, hard suck and another twist around the tip had him crying out softly, his hips jerking upwards, as his gaze locked with Anakin’s.

And Anakin took it, sucking greedily, never faltering. “Anakin….” Obi-Wan moaned, and then he was coming, ejaculating down Anakin’s throat as the younger man swallowed as fast as possible. Anakin sucked until Obi-Wan was done, the older man utterly limp against the couch, his eyes closed as he caught his breath, his now flaccid penis twitching from over stimulation as Anakin gave it one last lick. Anakin climbed back onto Obi-Wan’s lap, finally sated and filled with peaceful lethargy, and closed his eyes in sudden exhaustion.

Vader’s eyes fluttered open and focused on Imperial-grey walls above and around him. “Please,” he begged – the Universe, the Force, his Master, he did not know – “please, not yet. Not yet.” He felt the tug at his navel.

Anakin was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his room, moaning brokenly. “Please, Master,” he begged, helplessly. Obi-Wan’s tongue was on him, in him. That clever tongue laved undivided attention on Anakin’s hole, occasionally darting inside to lick the rims of his walls, coating everything in wetness. Anakin’s cock was weeping, desperate for any sort of attention, and his hips were desperately twitching, trying to grind down onto Obi-Wan’s rough tongue to gain any sort of friction at all. 

His Master had commanded him to keep his hands by his sides, forbidden him from touching himself, but Anakin had long forgotten about his hands as they bunched in the sheets. He was completely naked and desperate for any sort of contact from his Master, besides the sweet torture of his tongue. His mind was completely blank save for the roiling want which echoed through his entire body and was focused entirely upon his Master.

Obi-Wan darted in again, soft auburn hair falling over his eyes, reaching up and in as far as he could go, licking those quivering walls. Anakin cried out, hips jerking against Obi-Wan’s hold, a spurt of cum shooting from his erect cock. He keened desperately when Obi-Wan pulled out again. “Master, I’m ready. Please, please, I’m ready,” he begged shamelessly, thrusting upwards on the bed again as Obi-Wan drew back and began pulling at his own throbbing penis. “I need you,” he said, watching greedily as Obi-Wan’s hips jerked at those words.

Shaking, the other man lined himself up with one hand, the head of his cock pressing against the rim of Anakin’s hole. Anakin tried to thrust backwards, aching and desperate, but Obi-Wan halted him with one hand before bending down and engulfing Anakin’s leaking prick with his warm mouth. Anakin’s hips fell back to the bed, his eyelids fluttering at the overwhelming sensation of that all-encompassing warmth. Force it was too much. Obi-Wan followed him down and swirled his tongue around the base of his prick, gave one last, long suck and as Anakin thrust upwards into that glorious heat, he pulled back entirely, aligned his hips again, and pushed himself all the way into Anakin in one, swift movement.

Anakin moaned tightly at the feeling, the burning sensation almost immediately giving way to the indescribable sensation of Obi-Wan at last inside of him. The harsh noise that left his throat surprised him, but seemed to relieve Obi-Wan who watched him carefully. Obi-Wan shifted a bit, letting Anakin grow accustomed even as the younger man could feel the strained tension in his Master’s thighs as he fought the instinct to bury himself even deeper into Anakin’s tight body. One of his Master’s hands came up and began to stroke his cock, drawing soft moans from Anakin’s lips. Anakin’s hands came up and rested gently on his Master’s hips.

After a moment, Obi-Wan began to move, rocking his hips against Anakin’s, slow at first before he began to go faster. Every thrust of his hips sent sparks of pleasure shooting through Anakin’s veins. Obi-Wan was so deep within him that Anakin couldn’t feel anything else. His Master was heavy above him, bracing himself as his hips snapped and his stomach muscles scrapped against Anakin’s throbbing dick. Obi-Wan was slick with sweat, his muscles taut over the hard planes of his stomach. His eyes closed and he moaned tightly after a particularly deep thrust had him hitting something which caused Anakin to see stars. His back arched towards his Master, as he tried to work his hands between their bodies down to his own shaft, while at the same time thrusting backwards against Obi-Wan to see if he could find that spot again. Obi-Wan obliged him by thrusting in again and hitting that spot. Anakin shuddered, gasping, begging his Master to do that again and again. “Oh, more, please more,” he cried, despairingly.

Obi-Wan’s breathing became more erratic as Anakin gripped him fiercely and urged him to go faster, harder. “I can take it, Master,” he said. “Fuck me,” he growled, and at those words Obi-Wan lost his rhythm, gasping as Anakin buried his face in the hollow of his Master’s throat and canted his hips sharply upwards, taking even more of Obi-Wan within himself. He needed all of it.

His right hand wrapped around the thick shaft of his own cock and his hips lifted up again down along Obi-Wan’s engorged length, who finally began to move once more, faster and harder, his hips snapping erratically as he chased his own pleasure within Anakin’s body. His arms gave out and with a groan he sank even further into Anakin, the tip of his cock hitting that spot within the younger man again. One hand reached down and wrapped around Anakin’s own between their bodies, pulling on his Padawan’s cock. Fluid leaked from the tip, the deep ache within him letting Anakin know he was so close to the edge once more.

Anakin moaned, buried his face in his Master’s soft, sweat-soaked hair, feeling that inexorable swell of pleasure rise up in him, higher and higher, overpowering everything else. There was so much sensation. Everything was so intense, so powerful, and there was nothing to hold onto but his Master. Had it always been like this and he had never noticed? Surely it had not. No one had ever made him want so badly. “Please, Master,” he whispered, begged, one last time.

This was a dream, Vader realized, a sweet, sweet dream. He raised his free hand, pushing aside Obi-Wan’s mussed hair, needing to see that beloved, familiar face, to watch as his Master came undone deep within him. He scraped his cheek affectionately against the man’s beard, kissed those delicate, fluttering eyelids, and then pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Let go,” he murmured into the other man’s ear.

Obi-Wan trembled in his arms, gave one last shaky thrust with his hips, his hand clenching around Anakin’s cock. And then he sighed, deep and quiet, as warm fluid spilled within Anakin and Obi-Wan collapsed, spent, upon him and holding his Padawan tightly to him.

The sight of Obi-Wan, completely wrecked and with all his perfect control gone, the final thrust against that spot within him, the feel of Obi-Wan completely filling him up, the rough pull on his engorged prick, was too much for Anakin, who cried out and felt bliss overtake him. Everything went white, the walls of his anus quivering as he came, clenching tighter onto Obi-Wan’s spent cock, and causing the other man to moan wantonly in his ear as his hips spasmed and more cum was milked from him.

For long minutes afterwards they remained entwined with one another, just breathing, as the room spun around Anakin and he felt peace settle within him, flooding his veins with warmth. His cooling skin caused him to shiver and the bond he shared with his Master sang beautiful and gold in the Force, lazily entwining in echo of their physical bodies. It was mellow now, gently teasing along the edges of Anakin’s awareness, and his mind was finally quiet. His skin prickled from the remembered, overwhelming sensations he had felt and he was alive now, here in this moment, truly alive.

When Anakin could finally think straight again, he pulled Obi-Wan’s limp hand off of his satiated cock and interlaced their fingers together, despite the stickiness coating them. Obi-Wan was dozing lightly already, still buried deeply within Anakin, murmuring fondly when Anakin wrapped his legs around the other man and refused to let him move.

Everything was perfect. He felt heaviness fill his limbs and he slept.

 

&……&……&……&…….&…….&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really got away from me. As you can tell, Vader is feeling again for the first time in decades and it is utterly overwhelming him. (A bit like when Buffy, after her return from Heaven, could only feel anything when she was with Spike.) He’s addicted to it like a drug (which is probably why this chapter got so long, I apologize). Has anyone noticed that they haven’t kissed yet? Vader hasn’t lol.


	7. Waterfalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars. This chapter starts off kind of explicit, but mellows quickly. I will say that Vader is so obsessed with physical pleasure now because he denied himself any sensation except rage for so long. Now, he has become addicted to that rush he feels with Obi-Wan. And the fact that it’s Obi-Wan……well, it makes it even more intense for Vader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Maybe'…….Vader felt a shiver run through him; ‘maybe’ was a dangerous word. It was a bit like hope.

Several weeks passed, and every night Vader fell into wonderful dreams or visions or almost-memories of himself and Obi-Wan. His Master owned him and filled him and made love to him in every way imaginable and as soon as Anakin exploded into orgasm, he wanted the older man yet again. Over and over again he begged helplessly for that high, for touch, for friction, to feel Obi-Wan all around him and deep within him, for that golden, burning warmth to rise up in him, carrying him higher and higher until it was almost unbearable, and he crashed, sated, down on the other side. Then and only then could he rest, mellow and satiated, in the other man’s arms.

His time with his Master, those overwhelming feelings began to be the only times he felt truly awake. The rest of his life now seemed insubstantial and dull, and often all he could think of, all he could see, all he could feel, was that world the lightsaber brought him too. He constantly yearned for it, low flutters of anticipation thrilling through him at the thought that soon he would be there again. He found himself continually aroused now, his cock swollen and straining against the inside of his inflexible armor. He burned for his Master’s touch, his presence, and nothing could completely satisfy him; no matter how many times he brought himself off to imaginings and memories, even fucking a middle-aged auburn-haired officer who looked vaguely like Obi-Wan in order to finally find release, coming deep within the other man. He soon found himself unable to come at all in the waking world, his prick near-constantly engorged, want and need singing in his veins, and his concentration for anything else non-existent. Nothing helped, and the weeks went by with his nights spent fruitlessly trying to get himself off, wanking himself raw, and his days spent humiliated and useless, his throbbing erection leaking and aching for any sort of release.

He had no idea what was wrong with him, no idea of how to make it stop. He cursed Obi-Wan and himself, cursed the Emperor who could tell something was wrong and kept probing him through their bond, and cursed the lightsaber itself. He was sure that it was only a matter of time until he made a fatal mistake at a crucial moment, due to his inability to crush this need coursing perpetually through him, and either the Emperor would find he had no longer use for him, or he would get himself killed.

Finally, he was so desperate for Obi-Wan’s touch, for release in the real world, that he dreamed of the man taking him as he was now – no longer even a man but a monstrous machine, hideous, scarred and impotent – in his own bed on Mustafar. Obi-Wan looked as old as he should have – not the weary, broken man Vader had faced on the Death Star – and he whispered sweet nothings in Vader’s ear as he brought the other man to orgasm. Vader fell asleep, finally satiated, to Obi-Wan’s lips against his ear, murmuring that he was beautiful, “Still so very beautiful,” and to the feel of Obi-Wan buried deep inside of him.

The next morning he woke and his mind was clear again. He stared down at the lightsaber, which he’d somehow called to himself in his sleep and which lay tightly clutched in his metal right hand. It hummed sweetly at him, soft and soothing like rippling water. Its siren song had Vader closing his eyes and stretching out to the Force before he even thought about it, falling into light meditation as he steadied his breathing and just listened to the eddies of the Force around him. He wondered if it had changed a bit since he had last listened to it.

He could feel an echo of his old Master’s presence still thrumming through the Kyber crystal, flowing in and around and besides the dark, malevolent presence of the Emperor – a presence which Vader had felt for as long as he could remember – and tried to decide if there was more light within him than usual. The Force felt like black velvet today, instead of a giant, gaping hole which sought ever to suck him into it, and there were tiny pinpricks of golden light flashing at intervals, like fireflies on a hot, summer’s evening. Stretching further, he could feel the faint eddies in the Force, distant but powerful and bright, which he knew came from his son. There was a fainter presence twining with his, just as powerful but untrained and even brighter, if that was possible. The two Force presences were spreading light in their wake like ripples in a pond, pushing back the ever-present darkness which Vader had felt creeping across the galaxy during the Clone Wars, and which had wrapped around him non-stop since Padmé died and Obi-Wan had…….left him.

Or perhaps…..perhaps…….it had been Anakin who had left him. Obi-Wan had remained unchanged after all. It was Anakin who had taken on a new name, a new Master. He wondered, for the first time in a long, long time, whether it was really the Jedi Order who had betrayed the Republic. He had always known that Palpatine had the best interests of the Republic at heart, but he couldn’t deny that the Republic no longer existed, that the Jedi no longer existed, and that not even the Senate existed any longer. Alderann was gone and Alderaan had been……ancient and powerful and beautiful. The only thing that remained constant was Palpatine. And him. What did that say when everything else around them had changed?

He wasn’t sure. He had always been sure before. Pushing his fruitless ruminations aside with a snarl of annoyance – what had happened could no longer be changed – he went about his day with renewed energy, feeling himself again and grateful for it. 

But three days later, unable to resist any longer, he sat crossed-legged in the entry hall to the main living quarters of his fortress. This area was open to the inhospitable and quicksilver volcanic forces of the planet. Vader watched for a long time as the lava churned and bubbled, shooting up in towering geysers in places as it expended the violent energy within the planet’s core, while in others it rolled sluggishly through beds as it created rock formations in its wake. Distantly he could hear the roar of the fiery waterfall which poured from the base of his palace and disappeared into a burning lake below.

This place was a place of death but………Vader rolled the lightsaber between his huge fingers……but someday there might be life here. The lava was…….creating this world. It was still a place in flux. Not just a place of death it was ……a place of potential. Maybe…….Vader felt a shiver run through him; ‘maybe’ was a dangerous word. It was a bit like hope.

Without removing his helmet and touching the lightsaber to his skin, Vader reached out tentatively to the kyber crystal using the Force. He had tried forcing it to show him Obi-Wan, tried bending the crystal to his will, and had almost cracked it in two. It was weaker now, its song thrilling with a chord of fear underneath all the calm, familiar warmth of his Master. Vader was terribly afraid of shattering it.  
If he did that he knew Obi-Wan would be gone forever. So he tried a different tactic. One that was not Sith at all. He blocked himself off from Sidious’ presence in his mind and stretched out to the Force itself, probing it gently for any hint of Kenobi.

“All becomes the Force,” Master Yoda told him once, many years ago, the other Jedi Younglings surrounding him as they all sat in a circle around the vulnerable Grand Master in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The sound of waterfalls was all around them, filling the air with fresh moisture. “One day, let go we all must, and join it we shall.”

“All of us?” a young Ferus Olin had asked, raising his hand tremulously.

“All of us,” Yoda had responded, firmly.

Vader reached out, farther than he ever had before, opening himself and trying to remain calm and still as he searched for Obi-Wan. As the minutes and then hours passed, he felt himself growing impatient, but he persevered; he had no other choice if he wanted to see him again. Not unless he wanted to touch it to his skin, and he wanted to do it this way. He should be able to do it this way! He should be able to find him whenever he wanted!

After a long time Vader thought he felt a faint glimmer of Ahsoka’s presence – laughing and bright and very far away. Where was she? Qui-Gon might have been behind her somewhere, feeling green and wild in the Force, like a tropical rainforest. There were others who were familiar too, men and women he had fought besides, whom he had known, whom he had met once, or killed, or watched die, or failed to save, but none of them was Obi-Wan. The kyber crystal hummed louder. Vader tried to weave his own dark presence into it, hoping that the familiar call of the crystal would draw Obi-Wan to him.

At last he resorted to begging the Force silently. 'Please send him back to me.'

He fell asleep like that, seated upright, too exhausted to hold the Emperor back any longer, feeling darkness swamp him once more – night without a star. 'I can’t find him.'

When he opened his eyes he was lying on his back upon a thick, warm carpet of green grass. He was on a little hill, with huge, lush trees entwining above him, gardens surrounding him, and the sound of waterfalls coming to him from every direction. The pure life and vitality and light in this place was astonishing. Birds called to one another, among the calls of other animals he didn’t know the names for, and brightly-colored, winged insects fluttered above him, twirling through the fragrant, moist air in lazy circles.

Anakin Skywalker was back in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Slowly he sat up, stretching his sore muscles tiredly, flexing his metal hand, and looking around him with awe. No matter how many times he had been here, this place was still absolutely fascinating. Before leaving Tatooine, he had never seen a place where the moisture hung in the air so think, you could almost breathe it in. Naboo had been lush and wonderful, filled with tumbling rivers and brooks, populated by new and unusual animals and people, but this place fairly exploded within the Force. And instead of screaming at Anakin, as most powerful Force presences did, it was vivid and yet, somehow, peaceful and serene. There was purpose here and harmony – there was struggle and accomplishment within the life forms growing and living here, but there was a sense of safety and beauty and acceptance as well. The vibrant life within this place was well-cared for, but free to follow its nature at the same time. 

There was balance.

Obi-Wan was here. Somewhere. Anakin could feel him.

His Master had always loved this natural retreat within the very walls of the Jedi Temple itself. He would withdraw here for meditation after particularly difficult missions, or when he was trying to calm Anakin’s turbulent nature into relaxation. He had told his former padawan once, that he could still feel Qui-Gon here. After Satine had died, Anakin would find him seated on a bench in a corner filled with prickly and beautiful flowers, saying that the spot reminded him of her.

Anakin was sure he would find his Master here now, as well. Master Yoda had warned him that Obi-Wan was still somewhat recovering after whatever had happened to him and Bail Organa on Zigoola. No one would tell Anakin what exactly had transpired, as though he couldn’t be trusted, as though he didn’t deserve to know, as though his attachment to his Master would somehow interfere with his healing.

Anakin felt an urge to blame Bail Organa for whatever had happened to his Master; if he had been there instead of a useless politician, this wouldn’t have happened. If he had been there. But Anakin hadn’t been there, he had been wasting time searching for Artoo in the Outer Rim because he had foolishly let him get captured by the Separatists after refusing to memory wipe him. So Obi-Wan had gone alone into danger; and had very nearly died for it.

The Sith had tried to kill him, Master Mundi had told him, brusquely and unhelpfully. Master Adi Gallia had taken pity on his frantic need for more information and explained that Master Yoda and Master Windu thought that it had been a targeted attack specifically designed to eliminate both Obi-Wan and Senator Organa. She had been wryly amused at Anakin’s surprised look. “Master Kenobi is one of the greatest Jedi we have had in the Order. Surely you are not shocked that our enemies will have noticed this as well.”

Well, of course Anakin knew that his Master was the best. Obi-Wan was extraordinary; he had always seen that.

Now, he pulled himself wearily to his feet and followed the warm, golden presence of his Master further into the sprawling beauty that was the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Ahsoka had wanted to come with him, but he had persuaded her to let him see Obi-Wan alone, first. If his Master was still so weak, he didn’t want his padawan to have to see that. She adored Obi-Wan and he didn’t want her blaming herself for not being there. Like he was doing.

Besides, if Obi-Wan was still so very weak, Anakin needed to know if there was anything he could do. His heart was pounding in his chest, in fear and anticipation both. He had been so worried that he hadn’t even stopped to see Padmé, or let her know that he was back on planet. Obi-Wan had assured him via hologram that he was perfectly alright, and Anakin had known then that it was very bad indeed.

Anakin was almost running by the time he reached the sunlit clearing where Obi-Wan was seated, eyes closed, hands relaxed upon his knees, in meditation. Behind him was a steep incline and a short drop to a clear and sparkling pool, into which poured a rumbling waterfall. The white of the sprain filled the air with water droplets which caught the sunlight and sparkled. The thick trees from which Anakin had come were filled with birds and mammals and insects, calling to each other softly. 

Anakin froze, just taking in his Master. Obi-Wan’s features were calm and peaceful, but he looked emaciated, worn and exhausted as though something had sapped nearly all of his strength. His hands were almost translucent as they rested on his thighs, and Anakin could see them faintly trembling. His soft, auburn hair caught the sun as well, and shone with gold, but Anakin could see faint streaks of silver in it which had not been there the last time he had seen the older Jedi. 

He looked like he had aged ten years. I did this, Anakin thought to himself, furiously. I failed him.

The memory of the last time he had seen his Master – Obi-Wan aged almost beyond recognition, so very tired and sad, but still utterly resolute – flashed suddenly before his eyes.

“You should not have come back,” he’d told his erstwhile mentor.

But no, that wasn’t his memory……for a moment Anakin froze, straining to recall. No, that is your memory, Vader whispered to himself. Remember that this isn’t real.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes then, their intense gaze fixing unerringly upon the younger man. “Anakin,” he called, joy lighting up that beloved face. Anakin felt his breath catch. He could feel Obi-Wan’s delight in his return flowing through the Force.

His Master stood to greet him…….and stumbled. Anakin lunged forward and grabbed him before he could fall, his arms wrapping tight around the older man. Obi-Wan pressed his head into Anakin’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Still a bit dizzy, I guess.”

Anakin could feel his Master’s legs shaking. Slowly he helped them both to sit again, keeping Obi-Wan’s face pressed against him until the dizziness passed. Even then, he kept his hands wrapped around the other man’s arms, sending tendrils of his own strength to his Master across their bond.

Obi-Wan smiled tiredly at him. “Thank you, Anakin,” he told him, sounding grateful, “but there’s no need. I will recover in time, so you needn’t waste your strength on me.”

“It’s not a waste,” Anakin shot back, sounding harsher than he meant to in his anger at himself. His hands stroked Obi-Wan’s arms soothingly, eventually skating underneath his Master’s Jedi robes to run his hands over Obi-Wan’s bare skin, all the while sending little trickles of healing into the other man. 

Obi-Wan shuddered a bit at the sensation, his eyes closing. Anakin could feel Goosebumps breaking out over his Master’s skin, and shivered as well. Vader felt himself stir at the feel of Obi-Wan’s bear skin against his own, felt arousal dart through him, and viciously suppressed it, shame burning through him like fire. His Master was still injured and he wanted to……

'Control yourself,' Vader snarled, at himself or Anakin he could not tell anymore. For he could feel what Anakin felt now, and he knew what the boy himself did not; Anakin Skywalker was in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The realization, coming so very late, made him want to scream in rage and frustration, to rend the very galaxy apart in his despair. How had his younger self not known this? How had he just……ignored it all those years he fought beside the man, all those years he was married to Padmé and obsessed with claiming her complete devotion, all those years he listened to Palpatine and thought that Obi-Wan was jealous of him and never cared for him enough. 

Obi-Wan had been his Father. His brother. He had always thought of him like that. Closer than brothers. 

He hadn’t been……he wasn’t – 

“What happened, Master?” Anakin demanded.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, a quick quirk of his lips, wry amusement in a situation that should only have been tragic. But Obi-Wan had always been like that, able to find something good or funny even in the darkest of circumstances. “Well, I defeated a Sith Lord of course,” he explained, trying to sound smug and merely sounding sarcastic. He shook his head ruefully. His eyes opened and laughter danced in their beautiful, blue-grey depths. “It seems to be my lot in life,” he teased Anakin, echoing Threepio’s frequent complaint.

Anakin choked on a laugh, his heart pounding in his chest as he held on to the other man. His Master was brighter in the Force than ever before, as though he had been tested in fire and passed through to the other side victorious. He was shining and warm and teasing Anakin and so very happy to see him and……here. 

A tiny gasp escaping him, Anakin reached his right hand up around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, lunged forward and claimed his Master’s lips in his own for a tender kiss. It was just a gentle press of lips – Anakin was trembling too badly and Obi-Wan was shocked into stillness.

After a moment Anakin stopped, pulled back just the slightest bit, and rested his forehead against the other man’s. He closed his eyes, unwilling to see the disappointment and distress on his Master’s face. He was still trembling with nerves and he didn’t think Obi-Wan was even breathing.

“Anakin,” his Master said at last, questioningly, sounding so shaken and uncertain that Anakin felt like crying. 

Vader could feel anger rising up within him that Obi-Wan had never noticed how he felt. Of course the old man didn’t want him back. 

“I almost lost you, Master, didn’t I?” Anakin whispered, feeling Obi-Wan shudder against him as his breath skated over the other man’s lips. They were still warm from where Anakin had kissed him. Obi-Wan’s beard was scratching pleasantly against Anakin’s chin. He brought his other hand up and skimmed the pads of his fingers against his Master’s silken skin, feeling Obi-Wan tremble under his touch again. With a start, he realized that his Master hadn’t actually pulled away from him yet.

“Master,” his whispered, feeling Obi-Wan silently gasp, and his warm breath mixing with Anakin’s own as he pulled in air harshly. His nose brushed Anakin’s before he stopped himself and stilled again.

So, Anakin climbed into his Master’s lap, taking care not to rest the majority of his weight upon the other man, mindful of his injuries, and kissed him again. Harder. More demanding, but still so tender. Teasing him with a swipe of his tongue over Obi-Wan’s yielding lips.

He felt Obi-Wan’s soft moan vibrating through to his very bones, and then his Master was kissing him back clumsily, hands reaching around Anakin’s waist to pull him closer before skating up his back and angling Anakin’s head for better access.

For a long moment they traded kisses, breathing growing more uneven, holding each other tightly, both of them trembling, before Obi-Wan pulled back roughly with a gasp.

“Anakin……” he moaned again as Anakin darted in and kissed him once more, darting his tongue into Obi-Wan’s open moth and licking inside. “Anakin…..we can’t….” he panted, helplessly kissing Anakin back. “I never wanted…….you’re already……” he broke off with another moan as Anakin nibbled on his Master’s lips.

He stopped talking when Anakin gently pushed him back onto the soft grass – cradling his Master’s head in his hands – and began to plunder his mouth. He covered Obi-Wan’s body with his own, kissing the other man deeply, before brushing soft kisses over his Master’s cheeks, across the man’s fluttering eyelashes and delicate eyelids. Then he nibbled on his Master’s jaw before moving downwards, kisses a column down his smooth throat, delighting in Obi-Wan’s gasp as his head fell back and he arched into Anakin’s touch.

He buried his face into the hollow of his Master’s throat, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling Obi-Wan’s hands come up to run soothingly through his hair. Vader and Anakin were one in this moment, both of them aching with need……but it was a different kind of need. Anakin pulled his hands down, and pushed aside his Master’s tunic to possessively run his fingers over his stomach, feeling the muscles flutter under his stroking. 

“Anakin…..” Obi-Wan tried again, but Anakin could feel his Master swelling beneath his stomach, hot and hard against the confines of his trousers. He pulled himself up and claimed the man’s lips again, effectively silencing him, and pressed their groins together, swallowing Obi-Wan’s resulting strangled moan.

The waterfall pounded all around them, the sunlight warmed Anakin’s back and turned Obi-Wan’s hair to gold, and for long moments there was nothing in the universe but them.

A sudden rustle in the trees, the faint hum of another Force presence, startled them both. Anakin pulled back with a start, seeing Obi-Wan’s sudden alarm. He was almost distracted again by the man’s red and swollen lips, the flush which filled his face, his heavy-lidded gaze and mussed hair. Groaning he leaned in for another deep kiss, swirling his tongue around his Master’s before pulling back again. Obi-Wan look utterly wrecked, reaching up to drag Anakin back down to him with a small whimper.

Anakin scrambled backwards from his Master, even as whoever it was came closer to their private spot in the clearing. Whoever it was could go bugger themselves. He scooped Obi-Wan up in his arms and in one, powerful Force-jump, shot them both straight through the waterfall and into the cool, moss-covered cave on the other side.

They were drenched and sputtering now, Obi-Wan’s eyes clearing a bit and shooting Anakin a disgruntled look. Anakin found himself helplessly trying to stifle laughter at his Master’s bedraggled appearance, until Obi-Wan gave a grunt of annoyance and pulled him back down into a bruising kiss, his hand rising to tug on Anakin’s curls until the younger man moaned breathlessly against his Master’s lips, and then Obi-Wan rolled them both over until Anakin was underneath him. He pulled back a bit to admire the younger man, nose nuzzling his fondly before he raised himself on trembling arms. Anakin was breathing heavily, his hand rising to skate over his Master’s cheek again, watching as the sunlight filtered through the waterfall and dappled across Obi-Wan’s hair and body.

He felt possessive desire curling through him, stronger than he had ever felt it before in his life. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. 

He could feel Obi-Wan’s exhaustion growing rapidly in the Force, so he turned them both until they were side by side and he could cradle the older man to him. They lay watching each other for a moment. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Obi-Wan murmured at last, his lips barely a hairsbreadth from Anakin’s own. Anakin shivered, reaching out to nip at those lips again, loving that moment when Obi-Wan’s resistance caved and he gave in, molding his body to Anakin’s own as Anakin held Obi-Wan’s face in his big hands and they exchanged wet and languid kisses.

Obi-Wan’s kisses became slower and slower as his current weakness caught up with him, his breathing evening out, until at last his head dropped to Anakin’s shoulder, the fingers of his right hand curling into his former padawan’s tunic as he fell into a light doze. Anakin held his Master protectively against his body, listening to that steady heartbeat, watching the sun make patterns on Obi-Wan’s skin, and listening to the soothing roar of the waterfall sounding all around him.

&……&…….&…….&…….&……..&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m loving all your ideas on who is actually in control of what’s happening in these Force-aided trips Vader is taking. I will say that the Dark Side makes you forget – as George Lucas says – and that Vader was on a lot of drugs during his years as the Emperor’s minion. I will also say that he’s not the most self-aware person when it comes to his own feelings, and that his own fears often cloud his judgment of how others feel about him. Basically, he is a ball of issues. How Obi-Wan puts up with him, we’ll never know.   
> I’m not quite happy with this chapter, but I’m tired of looking at it so I’m posting it. I’ll be posting a series of one-shots basically taking place during Vader’s few weeks of constantly longing for Obi-Wan. It’ll be extremely explicit, so only read if you’re into that sort of thing. But it’s NaNoWriMo, so I just kept going with it, lol.


	8. Tatooine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from Star Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone he had ever loved, he had failed or destroyed.

Vader had always known that one day he would face his old Master again. It was inevitable – destined in the Force itself – for Kenobi was the man who had trained the Chosen One, and the man who had defeated him at the height of his power.

Vader had always burned to face the old man again once he had achieved mastery in the Dark Side. But when he had stood before Obi-Wan on the deck of the Death Star, the entire might of the Empire at his back, watching a withered, decrepit, white-haired man in tattered robes stand before him, he hadn’t felt the hatred and rage he had expected. Instead he’d felt numb.

And then Kenobi hadn’t even fought back. The Old Master had given his former pupil an enigmatic smile – and oh, how Vader’s stomach had twisted at the sight, that small smile he had watched Obi-Wan give to their enemies a hundred times, that smile which had said ‘I have already won’ – and close his eyes in apparent surrender.

It had been instinct which had swept Vader’s lightsaber through the old man; he had seen this moment before his eyes every single day since he had been left to burn to death by a man he had called his ‘brother.’  


But Obi-Wan had not fallen; he had vanished. Leaving Vader behind once again. The terrible loneliness which had filled him then had been almost more than he could bear. Shocked at his Master’s last trick, he had prodded at the place where he had stood, but there was nothing there save his robe and his lightsaber. Even his tunic had gone with him. How?

It had been……unsatisfying, he’d thought at the time, wondering why he couldn’t get over the old man. And then his son had appeared; the savior of the Rebellion, a Jedi trained by the legendary Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. And he carried Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber as he fought against all that his own father stood for.

Tatooine, Vader had thought, furiously. They had been on Tatooine. He had never even thought……if he had only known, he would have found them. He would have killed Kenobi and taken his son with him off that Force-forsaken dust heap. 

Now Vader stood on the outskirts of Mos Eisely, surrounded by the 501st, knowing exactly what he had to do. Nine years since he had seen his old Master. Nine years since he had hunted across the vastness of the galaxy, tearing it apart in his search for the man. That sickening sense of déjà vu he felt, that this had already happened, that he had been here before, that Tatooine was no longer……no longer home……he pushed harshly to one side.

He would find Kenobi once and for all and finally drive the man from his thoughts. He would prove his mastery over the old man and then he could rest.  


He ordered his men to search Mos Eisley door by door. Somehow, he already knew that Kenobi was not there. Standing which his arms folded, his black cape billowing, and his suit maintaining a comfortable temperature despite Tatooine’s harsh climate, he faced the wide expanse of the desert at the edge of the city. He ignored the screams and pleas of the helpless citizenry.

His old Master was out there somewhere. Not here. 

Commander Cody – an old man now due to the Clones’ advanced aging, and kept at Vader’s side solely because he trusted the man’s loyalty – stood have a pace behind him to his right.

“What is in that direction?” he boomed to the man, pointing out into the desert.

Cody consulted the datapad he held in his hands. “A few small settlements, barely large enough to be called towns. Eventually, there’s something of a city, called Anchorhead.” Cody’s voice was always a comfort to Vader; familiar and steady. He had been Obi-Wan’s once, but now he was Vader’s.

“Then we will go there,” Vader ordered. As the Commander raised his comlink to request a guard, Vader forestalled him. “We will go alone. Kenobi is an old man; he won’t be a match for either of us.”

He could sense Cody’s slight unease in the Force. He didn’t question whether it was because they would soon confront Cody’s old commander, or because he worried that his current commander was walking into a trap. 

“As you say, sir,” was all he said.

Vader commandeered…..stole…..a landspeeder from a local and together the two of them headed out into the desert.

Anchorhead was several hours distant from Mos Eisely and they saw nothing but sky and sun and sand. Vader hadn’t expected any different, but he realized that he had forgotten how empty his old home had felt. When they finally reached Anchorhead – which was so small that in Vader’s opinion it was a blatant lie to call it a city – Cody made a quick search of the inhabitants by the simple expedient of going to the local pub and asking about any strange old men who live in the area.

After a judicious bit of Force-choking, the bartender opened up and explained that there was an ‘Old Ben Kenobi’, who lived out beyond the Jundland Wastes. “But you wouldn’t be wanting him, sirs, the man babbled frantically, as Vader turned away and began to sweep out of this……establishment. “He don’t have nothing to do with the empire. He’s just crazy and keeps to himself. No bother to anyone.”  


Vader didn’t even respond. The two armored men got back into the landspeeder. After several more miles had passed, Cody spoke up. “Do you really think the General could have survived out here all these years, by himself?” He sounded a bit awed as he stared around at the steep, barren cliffs which were coming into view in the distance, the burning suns which blazed high overhead, and the complete lack of any sort of vegetation or life surrounding them.

“My Old Master was always resilient.” But Vader felt a faint hint of unease steal through him all the same. How had Obi-Wan survived out here? Jedi or not, he had been raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. There had always been medical attention and food and rest for him there. For another, how had the man managed to keep himself fed? He hadn’t been even a passable cook back when he’d had a plethora of ingredients to choose from. Here, as Vader knew well, there was very little option. 

The suns were at high noon when Vader first felt a faint eddy in the Force, a whisper, a small trickle of water. He raised a hand for Cody to halt their speeder. As the engine died, the sound of wind blowing across sand roared in his ears. The winds were fierce today and it was likely a sandstorm would come along sooner or later. Vader closed his eyes and reached out to the Force, suppressing his own Dark presence and just letting eddies of energy flow around him.

This was something he had never been good at and he could not quite recall when he had learned it, but it seemed to be working because after a moment he felt a faint hint of Obi-Wan’s warm, golden flow again. Something in him felt hollow at the thought that it was here, finally, and that soon he would silence it.

“I will continue on alone,” Vader commanded suddenly. “Stay here with the speeder. If a sandstorm hits suddenly, those caves 4 klicks to our west will provide adequate cover.”

“Sir-” Cody began.

Vader turned his mask towards the old man, silent and intimidating, and he fell silent. “As you say, sir. Though, perhaps it would be better for me to return to Anchorhead and await your return there.”

The only sound was the sand and Vader’s mechanical breathing. “Do as you think best,” he said at last. Vader turned away from the Clone Commander and began striding over the sand dunes, weaving around the tough plants which grew in this part of the Jundland Wastes. 

“Give the General……my best,” Cody shouted after him, and Vader almost lost a step. There was faint amusement and surprise and even……approval ghosting through the man’s Force presence. In a fury Vader whirled, planning on choking the man until he was begging for mercy at his presumption, but Cody had already gunned the engine into life and was executing an abrupt 360 before speeding back the way they had come.

Vader scowled. The man was remarkably spry for one so old. He should have been retired years ago.

Vader strode through a series of rugged canyons, the wind lessening in intensity, and it was around the last bend – a squat adobe dwelling on a cliff coming into view up ahead – that he found Obi-Wan at last.  


His master stood at the exit of the canyon, blocking Vader’s way. His stance was wide and balanced, his lightsaber held, unlit, in his right hand, and his face was stern and resolute. Vader froze. Kenobi was older than when he had seen him last, his face worn and haggard and lined by the desert. His auburn hair was liberally streaked with grey, and his plan, tan tunic hung about his frame.

But there was no fear in his blue-grey eyes. “So,” he began pleasantly, “you have found me at last, Darth.”

Vader’s heart gave a traitorous stutter at the sound of his Master’s voice, still crisp and regal, his Coruscanti accent unchanged.

“As it was foretold,” Vader agreed, in his deep, booming voice. He took a step forward and Obi-Wan’s blue-bladed lightsaber ignited, held ready before his body. Vader halted again, unsure exactly how he wanted to proceed. He itched to ignite his own lightsaber and cross blades with his Master once more.

“You do not belong here,” Obi-Wan began again, calmly. “This is not your time.” His voice resonated within the Force itself.

Vader halted, the words running through him in any icy shower. A sense of wrongness swamped him as he ran his eyes again over the older man. Obi-Wan did not seem in the least perturbed by the presence of his old apprentice, though he watched the Sith Lord carefully for any sudden moves. He was so much older than the last time Vader had seen him, standing above him on the slopes of a river of fire, judging his Padawan as he watched him burn alive……..no…….wait, he was younger than the last time Vader had seen him. 

Vader could see him now in his mind’s eye, completely white-haired, worn and sad. “Only a master of evil, Darth,” his voice rang out, as ancient and withered as his body.  


Vader stumbled, almost fell.

Obi-Wan, the present Obi-Wan, hadn’t moved. “Why are you here?” he demanded, the humming of his lightsaber drawing Vader’s gaze inexorably to it. That lightsaber. And Vader had a brief flash, a sense of Obi-Wan’s lips on his, of his own hands running through that soft, auburn hair, of his legs wrapped tight around his Master’s body as Obi-Wan thrust deep within him and Anakin cried out rapturously in release.  


Vader fell to his knees on the hard stand, staring up dazedly at his Master as that last vision burned through him, the memory of his aching desire for the other man echoing through his veins. Obi-Wan’s blue lighsaber pointed directly at his mask. He did not move.

With a shaking hand, Vader reached up and pulled the helmet and then the mask off. He could feel the scruff on his face – he had forgotten to shave this morning – and his unruly curls tumbled down around his cheeks.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in shock, a strangled gasp escaping from him as the hand holding the lightsaber wavered a little. He looked like he had seen a ghost. His hair blew softly in the dry breeze and Vader longed to pull his gloves off and run the fingers of his left hand through those fine strands once more.

But he was still so….confused. 

“Master?” he pleaded, his voice his own again without the modulator intefereing.

Obi-Wan was shaking like a leaf in a high gale now. “This isn’t……this isn’t real,” the older Jedi got out through dry and trembling lips.

“Master, what’s going on?” he asked again, Vader with Anakin’s face, fear rising in him in response to the older Jedi’s own.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan cried out, his lightsaber disengaging and throwing himself onto his knees before Vader as he wrapped his arms around the younger man. Vader felt fury and relief rise up together in him so strongly that he felt nauseous, his Master’s face swaying before him. He wanted to draw his lightsaber and cut Kenobi limb from limb…..but he also, desperately, wanted to kiss him.  


So he buried his face in the hollow of his Master’s throat and held on, trying to breathe shallowly and not make any sudden movements he would later regret, and listened to Obi-Wan’s rather short and confusing explanation.

“We are at a fulcrum point,” he said, his lips on Vader’s forehead as he all but rubbed his nose into Vader’s hair. His arms were so tight that Vader wondered how he wasn’t in pain from the sharp edges of the Sith Lord’s suit. “I thought it was just a fulcrum point where two timelines met, that’s what Ahsoka and I speculated anyway….” Suddenly he laughed softly against Vader’s smooth and unscarred skin, and Vader felt those soft vibrations all through his body. He tried to press even further into the other man. “But perhaps,” Obi-Wan whispered, hope beyond hope in his voice, “it goes beyond that. Perhaps it is a fulcrum point for every timeline, or between dreams, or even between what we wished for and what is.”

Vader hummed noncommittally. He felt…..wonderful pressed up against his Master. That aching pit of loneliness and despair was gone in the glow of Obi-Wan’s familiar Force presence, weaving once more through his own. But the fear was still there, fear that Obi-Wan would pull back and leave him alone once more. His hands clenched fiercely into Obi-Wan’s robes when his Master tried to draw back a little.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, gently. Vader wanted to tell him that Anakin was dead, that he had been killed by Obi-Wan himself. But his cheek was pressed against the smooth skin at the base of his Master’s throat and he was breathing without the aid of his respirator. So he didn’t protest when Obi-Wan pulled back a bit more and cupped Vader’s face in his hands. Those piercing eyes examined him carefully, before Obi-Wan pressed a gentle kiss to Vader’s forehead. His beard scraped against Vader’s skin and the Sith Lord closed his eyes at the sensation. “Let’s go up to the house, dear one.”

Vader followed him mutely up a small stairway dug directly into the cliff face. The way was steep and Obi-Wan glanced back down at him multiple times, as though to make sure that Vader was still there.

His house was Spartan and somewhat dilapidated, but everything was neat and tidy in that fastidious way Obi-Wan had always had. There was absolutely nothing personal about the place except for an ornate wooden chest which stood in one corner of the main room. He watched his Master place his own lightsaber into it, before the other man bustled off to the kitchen. He kept up a flow of inane conversation, telling Anakin about his day and Vader became more and more convinced that Obi-Wan was rationalizing him as some sort of hallucination brought about by his own longing – an Anakin from another timeline.  
Vader wandered over and opened the wooden chest. He pulled off the glove on his left hand to run his fingers over his old lightsaber, before he gently touched Ahsoka’s Padawan beads. Qui-Gon’s old lightsaber was in there as well. Vader felt sadness sweep through him at the thought that this chest contained everything his Master had left about those he had lost. His fingers brushed over a smooth metal disk and he pulled it out to examine it. It was a tiny holographic recorder, probably only able to house one picture. He pressed the central button and watched as an image of himself, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka filled the air before him. It was sometime well into the second year of the Clone Wars. Anakin was in the center, one arm loped around both his Master and his Padawan, a cocky, satisfied smirk on his face as he leaned his head against Obi-Wan’s. Ahsoka was beaming and leaning into his side, and Obi-Wan was staring into the camera with a bemused, half-smile on his face, but his eyes looked bright with happiness.

“It feels like another life, now,” Obi-Wan’s quiet voice said from behind him. Vader stilled before looking back at his old Master. Obi-Wan’s eyes were fixed on the holograph and there was an unbearable sadness in those clear eyes now. “Obi-Wan died with you.” He tried to smile at Vader. “Come, lunch is ready.”

They ate in silence. Vader slowly removed the rest of his armor, finding black, well-worn and comfortable, fabric underneath. He tried to swallow Obi-Wan’s rather terrible and overly-cooked food, and almost gagged on the bitter tea his Master provided him with – there was something really wrong with Obi-Wan’s vaporator – and searched for something to say to the other man. This felt different from all the other times he had seen his Master. This felt……this felt real in some way that he couldn’t explain.

Obi-Wan, for his part, kept darting his eyes towards his old Padawan, as though trying to memorize everything about him for when he left again. At last, Vader couldn’t stomach anymore of the meal and pushed his plate away. His gaze locked with Obi-Wan’s across the table, blue on blue, and for a long moment they simply stared at one another. Vader still didn’t know what he wanted to do. Anakin’s voice was shouting at him, his memories from his last encounter with his Master – kissing him deep and slow, with the waterfall glittering before them – flashed vividly through his mind, and the Obi-Wan seated across from him was so worn, so tired, his sadness and that faint glimmer of hope which refused to be quashed glimmered within his Master’s golden Force presence.

With a start, Vader realized he could feel their bond again, something which hadn’t happened since he had renounced his old allegiances. He didn’t know when it had happened, who it had been to reach out first and find the other waiting for them, but it was there.

As usual, it was Obi-Wan who knew what to do first. “I would have followed you, you know,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I ever told you, but when you wanted to leave the Order as a teenager, I told Yoda that I would go with you. Was Palpatine whispering in your ear even then? Why didn’t I ever tell you?”

Vader stared at Kenobi, wide-eyed. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, the enormity of what his Master said briefly stunning him. He couldn’t imagine Obi-Wan as anything but a Jedi.

Obi-Wan’s soft smile told him that his Master had read that thought on his face. “Being a Jedi is to follow a set of beliefs, Anakin,” he explained, gently. “I would have missed the Order, but I would have never ceased to be a Jedi.” He looked away then, gaze flitting out the window and towards the sand-covered horizon. “It’s harder here,” he admitted. “Here I must….wait. I don’t feel like a Jedi hiding like this, knowing that so many out there are suffering. But the Force keeps telling me to wait.” His smile was that old, self-deprecating quirk of his lips. “So I’m trying to follow the will of the Force as best I can.”

Vader found himself across the table, bending over his Master and pressing his lips harshly against the other man’s before his mind caught up with him. He kissed Obi-Wan demandingly, desperately, until he’d pulled a quiet moan from his Master. Then he pulled back a bit, rested his forehead against Obi-Wan’s and tried to catch his breath.

“I stayed a Jedi for you,” he admitted, their breaths mingling together, the warmth from Obi-Wan flooding into him and pushing back the coldness of space which always lingered in his bones. “I wanted to leave when I married Padmé, but I could never abandon you to face the Clone Wars alone.” He laughed a bit. “I wasn’t even sure how I would leave you even when they were finished, but I could never tell Padmé that.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she guessed. She was always more discerning than I was.” His fingers brushed helplessly along his Master’s cheeks, seeking any sort of contact with the other man, and he delighted in the other man’s swallow at the feather-light touch.

Kenobi’s eyes were a bright blue now, as vivid as the pools in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Vader pulled Obi-Wan up then, kissing him as he maneuvered them both over to the couch in the main room. There, he half-fell half-sprawled across the cushions and pulled his Master down until Obi-Wan was straddling him, thighs on either side of his own, as he tried to devour the other man. Obi-Wan’s lips were clumsy as he tried to kiss Vader back; there were tears trickling down his cheeks and he was trembling in Vader’s arms. Vader kissed them softly away, pulling the other man more firmly onto his lap until his half-erect cock brushed the growing hardness in his Master’s groin. Obi-Wan’s low moan, the little jerk he gave at the contact, had Vader rolling his hips upwards again, grinding them together until Obi-Wan let out a gasp and his lips lost contact with Vader’s

“Anakin,” he groaned helplessly, his head falling backwards, eyes closed. His lips were red with kisses and his face looked slightly flushed. Vader’s hands reached under Obi-Wan’s robes and he ran his hands soothingly up the other man’s bare back even as his lips latched on to Obi-Wan’s pale throat and he lavished it with kisses before sucking insistently on Obi-Wan’s pulse point, feeling the older man’s hips buck against him, grinding their groins together again.

He was fully hard now, Obi-Wan squirming in his lap, twisting just like that, causing him to reach a hand between them until he could palm Obi-Wan through his pants. His Master cried out softly, back arching as he tried to press further into Vader’s grip. “Anakin,” he cried again. 

Vader found himself breathing hard, face buried against the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat. “Have we…..have we done this before?” He got out, between breathless pants, even as he massaged Obi-Wan’s crotch and attempted to wriggle out of his own pants at the same time.

Obi-Wan helped him pulled them down before leaning forward and taking control, pushing Vader back onto the couch before kissing him deep and unhurried. He rocked against Vader achingly slowly, setting up a torturous rhythm that had Vader panting, his mind going blank as his hands grip his Master and all he could feel was the older man against him.

“Never,” Obi-Wan breathed against Vader’s ear, before he latched onto that organ and nibbled gently. Vader moaned. “You were……” a particularly slow, hard thrust had them both moaning as the pressure grew. “You were married!” Obi-Wan gasped out. “And my Padawan.”

Vader moaned again, images of himself seated on his Master’s lap, coming without even being touched as Obi-Wan twisted a hand around his Padawan braid, burned through him. He pulled Obi-Wan’s own pants down so hard they ripped at the seams, his Master’s soft laughter cutting off abruptly as Vader took them both in hand, pumping them in firm, even strpkes. He could have stayed like this forever; kissing his Master, being free to touch and taste him, as they learned each others’ bodies, and moved together. He could feel the edges of their bond again, warm and familiar in the Force, as their movements continued and the pressure built.

Until Obi-Wan gave another low moan and rocked his hips insistently against Vader’s. “Anakin,” he gasped, voice broken with want against Vader’s ear even as he rocked, harder, helplessly grinding their groins together. Vader lost his grip on them. “Anakin, I need you,” Obi-Wan pleaded.

Vader grunted harshly at those words, a spark shooting through him as he thought about claiming Obi-Wan as his own immediately, thrusting so deeply into him that……

His fingers were digging frantically into his Master’s back as he fought not to come right then and there.

“Please, Anakin,” Obi-Wan begged, sounding desperate even as he rolled his hips and rutted their now-throbbing erections together again.

Vader vaguely remembered frantically calling cooking oil to him as he opened Obi-Wan up slowly, kissing him deeply and continue to rock against him to keep the other man calm. He faintly remembered taking himself in hand as Obi-Wan sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch, as he used all his willpower to keep from thrusting as hard as he could into that tight heat.

The next thing he really remembered was Obi-Wan seated upon him, taking Vader in as far as he would go, their foreheads resting together as they both caught their breaths. The younger man had somehow divested his Master of his shirt, and now he ran a teasing hand over Obi-Wan’s left nipple, watching it harden under the leather-gloved, metal hand, before he reached down and licked a huge swath of saliva over it. Obi-Wan shuddered delightfully in his arms, his hips jerking and taking Vader in even further.

“Oh….” Obi-Wan gasped, his voice utterly wrecked, pupils blown so wide that Vader could hardly see the blue anymore.

He could help himself then and thrust up, as gently as he could, even deeper still into the other man, lips pressed against Obi-Wan’s desperately. They held each other tightly as they set up an erratic rhythm and it wasn’t long before Obi-Wan cried out and finished, shaking in Vader’s arms as he came, warm and sticky, all over their stomachs. Vader followed him several thrusts later, Obi-Wan’s tongue down his throat, his Master’s hands scratching down his back.

The older man collapsed upon Vader, exhausted, his lips attempting to press gentle kisses into Vader’s shoulder and the side of his neck. “I love you, Anakin,” he murmured, and his held fell softly to Vader’s shoulder, his hands sliding downwards as his body slackened.

He could feel Obi-Wan quickly fading into a light doze and realized for the first time how worm and rapidly aging his beloved Master was. He ran his hands soothingly down the man’s back until he felt Obi-Wan fall asleep in his arms, Vader still buried to the hilt within him. He remained like that until he was sure his Master would not wake, just holding him and listening to the sound of his quiet breaths. He didn’t want to leave. Every part of him revolted at the thought of leaving Obi-Wan behind. But the Force was calling to him, telling him it was time.

At last, slowly, he pulled out, feeling Obi-Wan stir against him. “Shhh,” Vader soothed him, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, before brushing a kiss as gentle as air against his lips. He carried his Master to his bed and laid him upon it, before pulling the blankets snugly around his naked form. They were both messy and he rubbed himself down quickly before pulling on his armor.

Leather covered fingers brushed longingly over his Master’s smooth cheeks one final time before he turned away.

He left the humble dwelling without looking back, but as he reached what Obi-Wan called the ‘fulcrum point’ he couldn’t resist turning back to look at the place which held the last part of Anakin Skywalker’s soul. 

He wondered if that was what true love was – that Obi-Wan could hold a part of his soul even now, after everything he had done and become.

“I love you too,” he whispered, feeling despair gnaw at his bones at what he was going back to. Everyone he had ever loved, he had failed or destroyed.

And Obi-Wan knew this and loved him still. Vader walked back through the singularity and felt his Master’s lightsaber – safe on its plinth on Mustafar – call him back. 

 

&……&……&…….&…….&……..&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: I kind of love the idea behind this chapter. It could be a stand-alone one-shot as well. Suitless Vader finding Obi-Wan again is one of my favorite kinds of fanfiction story, so it was fun to try and write my own version. I feel like Vader is making progress towards enlightenment. Slow, glacial progress it’s true, but progress nonetheless.


	9. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t know own anything from Star Wars. But I am super excited for the new movie. Apparently Ben goes to Darth Vader’s old palace on Mustafar and finds Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. This teaser was a basis for this entire story. Anakin kept Obi-Wan’s lightsaber with him – I just found this idea irresistible to explore further. Obi-Wan would know this. What would he do with this information? And this is the result, lol. I’m almost positive we’ll get Obi-Wan talking to Ben this movie, like he spoke to Rey during the last one. So, super excited.
> 
> We’re at the penultimate chapter now, ladies and gentlemen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: It could have been likes this……always.

Anakin Skywalker woke slowly, surrounded by warmth because he was wrapped in his Master’s arms. His head was resting on the older man’s chest, where he could hear his Master’s steady heartbeat, their legs were entangled lazily, and he felt gentle fingers running through his hair and massaging his scalp as he was pulled from sleep.

With a sleepy groan he tried to burrow closer down into Obi-Wan’s embrace and drift back into slumber. His Master’s soft chuckle – a rumble in his chest – brought half-hearted grumbles from the younger man but he was too relaxed and happy to put much effort into it.

Soft morning sunlight was peeking through the opened blinds and falling like a warm blanket over Anakin’s back. He knew it was morning but he didn’t want to even contemplate moving. Everything was perfect.

“Come, dear one,” Obi-Wan chided him gently. “We have a Council meeting in half an hour and then we ship out an hour after that. We don’t have time to while away the time in bed today.”

Anakin knew this but he didn’t care. He also knew that he was still Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, actually asleep back on the Executor as the command vessel headed towards the shipyards stationed around the forest moon of Endor. But he didn’t care about that either.

Obi-Wan had loved him, did love him. Truly loved him in every sense of the word. The elation of that revelation left him with a hollow feeling inside that was one part desperate excitement and one part aching need. So he darted his hands up and under Obi-Wan’s sleep shirt, needing to touch that smooth skin, and threw his leg entirely over the other man’s, pulling him closer with a happy murmur.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried again, his voice beginning to sound a bit strangled as Anakin pressed their half-hard morning erections together and his fingers skated maddeningly over the older Jedi’s bare skin.

“Mine,” Anakin muttered, feeling a fierce burst of possessive desire course through him – Oh, Obi-Wan was his, always his – swelling his cock as he rocked their hips together again and sleepily raised his head to claim Obi-Wan’s lips in a deep, wet kiss. Obi-Wan didn’t resist. 

They explored each others’ mouths and languidly rolled their hips in a familiar rhythm, feeling the pressure build up slowly and deliciously. Anakin felt himself teetering on that edge of bliss when Obi-Wan pulled back from his lips with a gasp. A small groan escaped him as Anakin playfully circled his hips and rubbed against him once more, the younger man unable to resist the heady power he felt that he and he alone, was able to reduce Obi-Wan Kenobi to an incoherent mess of want.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were surprisingly clear, steady and piercing as they gazed up at his companion above him. Anakin felt a sudden queasy feeling in his stomach. Could Obi-Wan see him? Truly see him? Did he know that he was not just Anakin but Vader as well? He had always felt that his Master could see straight through him and the more times he entered the lightsaber….but no, Obi-Wan was dead. His heart clenched at the thought and he suppressed it ruthlessly. His Master was dead. He had killed him. And Anakin had died a long time ago. This was nothing but……residual energy. And all of it fueled by Vader’s own wants, apparently. 

If the Emperor every found out his apprentice longed for Obi-Wan Kenobi……well, either he would have Vader killed or he would destroy every last memory of Anakin Skywalker that was left within his monstrous puppet. He shivered.

Obi-Wan’s fingers skimmed over Anakin’s cheeks, running over his eyebrows and skating over his lips. Anakin’s lips parted automatically and he tried to suck one of those fingers into his mouth, but Obi-Wan hummed fondly and moved them before he could. That beloved voice was low and elegant, but utterly serious even as he arched up again, pressing their chests and groins together, helpless under Anakin’s touch.   
“And you are mine, Anakin Skywalker,” he whispered, shocking Anakin by the fierce protectiveness in his tone. “Mine and no other. Don’t ever forget that!”

Anakin moaned desperately at his Master’s words and within moments they both came.

He found himself unable to really focus on anything but Obi-Wan throughout the rest of the morning. Standing before the Council, he tried to keep his expression blank and his thoughts in order even as he was distracted by the glint of Obi-Wan’s hair from the sunlight, by the elegant movements of his hands as he expounded on some point or other, and by the persuasive tones of his regal voice. He wondered how anyone could every resist his Master when Obi-Wan took on the charming, irresistible persona of the Negotiator. 

Even Master Windu was nodding along with whatever Obi-Wan was saying. Anakin tried to smother a smile even as Obi-Wan poked him across their bond, sternly reminding Anakin to pay attention. Cheekily he sent back his current feelings of growing arousal at his Master’s effortless domination of the entire Jedi Council, dropping his eyes to the ground to hide laughter when he saw Obi-Wan’s face flame in embarrassment and his voice faltered.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Master Depa Billaba shake her head in amused exasperation. Master Saesee Tiin glanced at Anakin out of the corner of his eye, before finally summarizing whatever it was this meeting was actually about.

But as Anakin and Obi-Wan made to bow themselves out, Master Yoda held up a small claw. “One other matter to discuss, have we,” he said, and Anakin smothered an annoyed growl. Master Yoda’s ancient eyes were suddenly fixed upon him, and he stilled despite his desire, or Vader’s desire, to reach out and strike at the useless little green menace; Grand Master of the entire Jedi Order and he had been unable to locate the Sith Lord sitting right under his nose…

“Your Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, ready for the Trials she is,” Yoda began, Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi nodding along with him.

Anakin felt shock once more course through him, felt his own knowledge as Vader that Ahsoka never took the trials because she had been accused of terrorism and treason…by the Jedi Council.

Obi-Wan was watching him carefully. No, he realized, not just the Jedi Council. Palpatine had orchestrated it, like he had attempted to get Anakin to kill Rako Hardeen despite knowing Obi-Wan was masquerading as him: he had wanted to isolate Anakin. But Anakin had failed to kill Hardeen because of the memory of his Master. He hadn’t left the Order behind when Ahsoka did because of….because his place was by Obi-Wan’s side.

It was only when Palpatine began implying that he had the power to save Padmé – that his pregnant wife was in danger of dying without his benevolent assistance – that Anakin succumbed. Obi-Wan had been sent to Utapau by then and Ahsoka was on Mandalore. He had been cut off and routed, caught like some helpless desert creature before a krayt dragon. He had long known this. His all-consuming obsession with Padmé – his desperate need for her complete loyalty and attention – had been the lure.

But here…..here he knew he wasn’t married to Padmé. Senator Amidala was happily married to some Naboo artist and she had a two-year-old daughter already, with another child on the way. He knew that Ahsoka had discovered evidence of Palpatine’s complicity in the accusations against her – that she and Asajj Ventress had uncovered evidence of the Sith controlling the Senate – and the Council had sent in Obi-Wan and Anakin to investigate. 

It was Obi-Wan and Anakin who faced Darth Sidious and killed him, before turning to aid Mace Windu, Depa Billaba and her young Padawan, Caleb Dume, in defeating Count Dooku. It was Ahsoka who the Council eventually assigned to hunt down General Grievous and bring an end to the Clone Wars. That was where Obi-Wan and Anakin were being sent, to assist her in that final push.

Anakin knew this was true and Vader wanted to weep in rage and fury that this had been the life he was denied. 

“When back from defeating Grievous you return, face them she will.” That aged face was crinkled with sudden joy. “And a new Jedi Knight we will have.”

The Council dissolved in gentle applause, as smiles broke out on their serene faces and Anakin’s heart pounded in pride and longing.

Anakin soon found himself standing on the bridge of the Resolute, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he surveyed the Republic dockyards around Coruscant. Swarms of smaller ships darted towards and away from the heavy cruiser, bringing on last minute provisions and supplies, and taking off the maintenance crew which had been overseeing final preparations. Artoo whistled by Anakin’s side, chirping a question. “Yes, you’ll see Threepio at the ceremony for Ahsoka’s Knighthood,” Anakin told him soothingly. The little droid didn’t often get to see his golden companion now that Padmé had retired to Naboo in preparation for the birth of her son. 

Anakin probed the feelings he had for the woman who had been his wife in another life. Distantly he felt admiration and friendship for her, and he still thought her beautiful, but the overwhelming passion he had once felt when thinking of her was gone. It had been gone as Vader as well, melting away with her absence and the years. He couldn’t even contemplate desiring her to the exclusion of all else. Every time he tried to picture her dark hair and eyes, her petite frame and sweet smile, he felt a numb sort of regret but nothing else. He tried to imagine kissing her, feeling those lips against his, those arms wrapping around his neck. He tried to remember how happy he had been when Padmé had met him on the platform after he and Obi-Wan had rescued the Chancellor. She had told him she was pregnant then, with their child, with Luke, and he had never felt happier in his life. A child would bind them together forever, he had thought.

But all he could see now was the bright blue-grey eyes of his Master when he looked at Anakin to share a joke or an eye roll; all he could feel was the warm weight of Obi-Wan resting against his shoulder, where he had drifted off in exhaustion after a battle; and all he could hear was that little gasp Obi-Wan had made the first time Anakin had kissed him, right before he had hauled the younger man against him and desperately kissed him back.

'But Luke,' he thought. 'My son.'

“You cannot stay,” Obi-Wan’s voice said from behind him. Anakin froze, fear trickling through him again. 'Did his Master know what he was? Did he really think Anakin wanted to stay here?'

He felt Obi-Wan come to stand beside him and he forced himself to turn and meet that intense gaze and raise an inquisitive eyebrow. Obi-Wan’s eyes shown with something Anakin couldn’t place. “You can’t stay on the bridge,” his Master clarified after a moment, turning to look behind him at the crew. “You’re making these men uneasy and Admiral Yularen is giving you a stern look from the helm.”

This was indeed true. Anakin shot the grey-haired man a cocky grin, even though he noticed that they had departed the docks, exited Coruscant’s planetary space, and made the jump to lightspeed all without him being aware of it.

He grimaced. “Yes, Master,” he said, mockingly, shooting an unrepentant grin at the older Jedi. “We wouldn’t want anyone to become nervous now would we?”

Obi-Wan gave him an unimpressed look. “You should be more respectful of others’ opinions and needs, my very young Padawan,” he lectured, as they turned in unison and strode back across the bridge. Artoo trundled after them. “Selfishness….following your own wants and needs to the exclusion of all else……is the quickest path to the Dark Side.”

“Not your Padawan anymore,” Anakin sing-songed. Obi-Wan’s constant criticisms carried less of a sting when you realized that they were a reflex. “Soon I’ll be a Master as well.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Anakin could feel it without even looking at the other man. “Yes, a master of insubordination and blind luck. It’s a wonder Ahsoka survived long enough to take her trials.”

Anakin could help the smile that spread over his face at that though of his Padawan. She was still spunky and fierce, but it had been tempered by Obi-Wan’s endless patience and wry acceptance at the strange twists and turns life could take. She had managed a balance within herself that sometimes left Anakin envious. He always felt like a storm raged within him, which could only be calmed by his Master’s presence. “Well, how could she not when she’s got you to look out for her,” he said. There was gratitude in his voice which he did not seek to hide.

Artoo wandered off to his own pursuits as the two Jedi strode down the slate-gray corridors towards their joint quarters. Anakin knew Obi-Wan wanted to meditate, he could feel the itch in the other man through their as-yet-unbroken bond. His Master remained quiet as they nodded to various Clone troopers and other Republic personnel. Anakin could feel Vader’s astonishment that there had been so many smiles on the faces of these military men and women. Imperial star destroyers had such a different feel to them.

Obi-Wan keyed open their door and strode inside before he swung around to face Anakin. His arms were folded across his chest as he surveyed his former Padawan. Anakin heard the door slide shut behind them and felt Obi-Wan reach out to lock it. Briefly he wondered what he had done wrong, for his Master looked to be in lecture mode. But Obi-Wan didn’t look disapproving. He brought a hand up to stroke his chin as his eyes took Anakin in from head to toe.

Being the complete focus of that gaze was something that never lost its thrill for Anakin. He shivered and shifted his weight a bit, trying to disguise his cock’s twitch of interest. 

“Anakin, you have done a fine job with Ahsoka. You, not I. You were her Master. Just because I provided assistance now and then, does not lessen your achievement. Or hers. You have taught her to be wise, compassionate and strong, and no matter where her path takes her, or has already taken her, I know you are proud of her.”

Obi-Wan’s words dropped like a balm into a wound that Anakin didn’t even know he had. He remembered the other Anakin’s despair and shame when Ahsoka had walked away. He remembered Vader’s sick dread and muted rage when she had faced him on Malachor, his twisted pride that she proved a worthy adversary, his blinding fury that Obi-Wan had trained her after his Fall. 

“She is a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said softly. “She always finds her way.”

And Anakin knew. He knew that Obi-Wan was really here with him. He stepped back harshly, hands gripping into fists, feeling anger flow through him and he was fully Vader once more. “And I don’t, you mean,” he accused. “I Fall and I let you down and I kill everyone who ever cared about me.”

Obi-Wan sighed softly and Anakin could feel his regret at the lost chance for meditation. A part of him wanted to laugh in slightly-hysterical amusement. His Master was dead and he thought this was a good time to haunt his former Padawan in order to meditate?

“Not everyone,” his Master said, refusing to be baited. His voice was even, and calm was spreading from him, towards Anakin, over their bond.

With a snarl, Anakin blocked himself off from that familiar presence, taking a perverse kind of pleasure in Obi-Wan’s small flinch even as the loss of that golden warmth made him ache. “Luke and Leia are spared so far.”

“The Princess?” he snarled. “Why should I care about her?” But he remembered her fierce eyes, the proud tilt of her chin, her refusal to be intimidated by him even as he tortured her. He recognized the fiery nature of her spirit in his own, but the clarity of her purpose reminded him of Obi-Wan, and even of her father, Bail. He had had a soft spot for her since she was a girl, and hoped the Emperor never found out. He should have known that Obi-Wan would see it, kriff the man!

“Why indeed?” Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes once more roaming over Anakin’s face. Those eyes, that beloved voice washing over him, they did strange things to Anakin’s insides, twisting them. He hated it.  
“How are you doing this?” Anakin shouted. “I know this is your doing!” He took a furious step forwards, maybe to shake Obi-Wan until he learned the truth, maybe to hit him for showing him this…..this perfect future and then taking it away from him.

Obi-Wan didn’t move, merely arched an eyebrow at Anakin, his eyes distantly curious. And Anakin found himself with both hands fisted in his Master’s robes trying simultaneously to shove the man away from him and pull him closer. He gave a wordless scream of frustration, pressing his forehead into the other man’s chest. Soothing hands stroked up and down his back, one moving up to tangle in his hair, brushing the tousled strands back. “Perhaps it is simply the will of the Force,” Obi-Wan said, sounding for all the universe like he was suppressing laughter at Anakin’s………righteous fury. It was not a tantrum, it was not a – 

“This is not funny, Obi-Wan.” And he sounded sulky even to himself. He gave another small scream to show his general opinion on events, but stopped abruptly when Obi-Wan placed both hands on either side of his face and drew him up until he was staring directly into his Master’s eyes.

He could kill the old man…..but he loved him……but he was still so angry at him……..

“I think it matters less on the ‘how’ and more on……” His thumbs stroked Anakin’s face. “What do you want to do, dear one?”

Anakin’s eyelids fluttered at the achingly sweet words. 'Oh, how could his Master still call him that?'

And then he was pushing Obi-Wan roughly backwards until he hit the wall, his head snapping against it with a loud ‘thud’. He pressed his entire body hard against his Master’s and claimed Obi-Wan’s lips in his own again. Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open with a gasp, his hands coming up to clutch Anakin to him desperately, even as Anakin hauled the smaller man up into his arms, encouraging Obi-Wan’s legs to wrap around his waist. Obi-Wan angled his head downwards to get better access and they exchanged sloppy, frantic kisses, hands grasping too tight, bodies pressed too close together. Anakin rolled his hips up into his Master’s, slamming him harder into the wall, rubbing their slowly swelling groins together, delighting in the gasp they both released at the movement – their breath mingling, their eyes refusing to close as they stared at one another.

“Is that – ” Obi-Wan gasped again and lost his train of thought in a small cry of pleasure, his eyelids fluttering, as Anakin rocked their hips together again. “Is that all you want, Padawan mine?” he got out at last.

No, Anakin thought hazily, even as he rocked upwards into Obi-Wan again and again. I want everything. His Master was his. Obi-Wan was really here, with him…beyond death. Oh Force, how was it possible?

Anakin growled, turning with Obi-Wan still in his arms, and staggered over to one of the beds. They fell onto it together, arms hopelessly entangled, refusing to let go, as Obi-Wan latched onto Anakin’s ear and began to suck and nibble, one of his hands finding their way beneath Anakin’s tunics to skate maddeningly over his quivering stomach muscles. Anakin moaned at the contact, pressing their groins together once more before he wrenched himself away with the last of his willpower.

Obi-Wan tried to follow him but Anakin held him back with a soft touch on his chest. His other hand rapidly freed Obi-Wan’s swollen cock. Anakin licked his palm, leaving a swath of saliva, before taking Obi-Wan in hand, stroking from length to tip before swirling a bit of pre-cum around the head. Obi-Wan moaned tightly, his back arching beautifully, as he tried to thrust into Anakin’s hand. Anakin set up a steady rhythm, stroking Obi-Wan first slow and then faster, firmly and then teasing him with just the lightest touch. Obi-Wan’s eyes watched him, hazy and lust filled, even as he began to lose control, breathless moans escaping him as he thrust erratically into Anakin’s hand.

No matter how many times he did this, it never ceased to turn Anakin completely wild that he could undo his Master in this fashion. Fascinated, he gripped the base of Obi-Wan’s cock and licked it from base to tip. Obi-Wan’s hips jerked and he groaned loudly. “Oh, Anakin, don’t,” he cried, “or I’ll…..”

Grinning maniacally, Anakin swirled that tongue lasciviously along Obi-Wan’s entire length and tightened his hand. Obi-Wan bucked underneath him, his cock stiffening before pulsing, shooting cum across them both.

Obi-Wan only allowed himself a brief moment to recover, staring blankly at the ceiling as Anakin wiped the hot, sticky fluid off his face. Anakin squawked as Obi-Wan pulled his legs out from under him, hauling the younger man further up the bed before he covered him with his own body, his messy balls and limp cock rubbing against Anakin’s still hard length as he reached up and kissed the younger man deeply.

Anakin’s indignation turned rapidly into wanton moaning as Obi-Wan ran his tongue greedily around the insides of Anakin’s mouth, before licking and kissing his way down Anakin’s body – removing clothes haphazardly from them both as he went. He paid particular attention to Anakin’s nipples, hardening them even as he teased his own cock gently back to arousal. He mouthed along the quivering muscles of Anakin’s stomach, sucking at the point where Anakin’s hip bone jutted out, even as the younger man wriggled underneath him, trying to get Obi-Wan to focus his attentions further downwards.

The ship hummed around them the Force thrumming with the purposeful and bright presences of the Clone troopers. Anakin forgot to shield himself and their bond blazed back into life, echoing pleasure across it so intensely, that golden warmth filling Anakin so entirely, that his entire body felt filled with little pinpricks of sensation, as though lightning was dancing across his skin.

Anakin’s mind was a haze of pleasure, his hands had wound themselves into Obi-Wan’s soft hair and he was doing his utmost not to force the other man to place that clever mouth on his cock. At last Obi-Wan ventured towards Anakin’s groin, licking and nuzzling his prickly beard around the base of Anakin’s cock, rolling his balls between his fingers.

Obi-Wan’s prick was hot and hard against Anakin’s thigh and Anakin bit back a groan at the thought that soon Obi-Wan would be inside him……his hips jerked upwards, trying to thrust into Obi-Wan’s mouth or gain any sort of friction at all as Obi-Wan bit gently at the very base of Ankain’s stem.

“Obi…..Obi-Wan, please…..” he begged, eyes closed and back arching helplessly. Obi-Wan took Anakin firmly in hand and placed those perfect lips around the head of Anakin’s cock, mouthing the leaking head, swirling his tongue around the tip before attempting to take him in deeper. Anakin’s broken moan encouraged his Master to begin sucking. After several passes up and down the length, Obi-Wan’s fingers, reached down and ran from the base of Anakin’s balls all the way back to his hole. Anakin thrust up into his Master’s mouth, trying to fuck into that warm, wet heat. Obi-Wan gagged as too much, too fast, filled him, gripping Anakin’s hips tightly, before he took him in even deeper. 

“Oh,” Anakin sighed, feeling that wave of pleasure building up within him.

Obi-Wan gave him one last lick before pulling back, ignoring Anakin’s soft cry of displeasure. His rough, wet tongue followed the path his fingers just took, licking a warm trail from Anakin’s balls, through the clefts of his buttocks until he began to circle Anakin’s puckered hole. His hand, still wrapped around the base of Anakin’s throbbing cock, began to stroke in time with the movements of his tongue. Obi-Wan knew the exact moment Anakin was lost as he tried to hazily decide whether he wanted to fuck into Obi-Wan’s hand or push harder against Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan mouthed his buttocks, nuzzled his nose and beard between those quivering folds, licked and circled Anakin’s hole, before he began to dart that tongue inside in shallow thrusts. Alternating the depth of his licks, laving attention on the walls of Anakin’s fluttering insides, he occasionally came fully out again, teasing the outsides as Anakin urgently tried to grind himself downwards, begging Obi-Wan to give him more. 

Obi-Wan knew he could make him come just like this. He felt an urge to dart his tongue in as far as it would go, knowing Anakin’s back would arch and he would come all over himself, moaning Obi-Wan’s name as he did. He had had no idea he held so much power over the younger man, no idea this was what Anakin desperately wanted, before this all began. The younger man seemed almost helpless against Obi-Wan’s touch, craving it sometimes even despite himself, and it soothed some long-broken part inside Obi-Wan’s ravaged soul.

Anakin had abandoned him, first to Padmé and then to Palpatine, always seeking to leave Obi-Wan behind for something he thought was better. Yet Obi-Wan could never seem to leave Anakin behind; every part of his existence seemed to have been touched by Anakin Skywalker.

But not matter how many times Anakin left, he always seemed to be drawn back to Obi-Wan again. Even twisted by evil, Vader had reached out to him; chased him, hunted him, tried to best him, killed him, claimed him in every way possible through the psychometry imprint Obi-Wan had left behind. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, if there was a chance that his Anakin could be redeemed, but looking down at the desperately moaning and helplessly aroused mess that was Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader both……Obi-Wan knew that he still loved him.

Groaning, he knelt on either side of Anakin’s thighs, straining upwards along his lean, beautiful form until he could kiss those full lips. One, then two of his pre-cum coated fingers entered Anakin, finding him stretched and wet and quivering, accepting Obi-Wan’s intrusion easily. Obi-Wan pulled on Anakin’s cock once more, even as his own began to throb in imminent release once more. He nudged the tip of his prick against Anakin’s entrance, felt the younger man’s stuttering breath against his lips even as they kissed furiously. He intertwined his fingers with Anakin’s own, stretching their hands over their heads, the lines of Anakin’s body elongating as Obi-Wan pushed passed the rim. Anakin sighed happily as his Master filled him. 

He pushed slowly inside, deeper and deeper into that tight, throbbing heat, until he was completely surrounded by Anakin. When he was buried to the hilt, his body completely covering Anakin’s as they pressed together and kissed messily, lips constantly slipping as they tried to get even deeper and the sensations overwhelmed them, he began to thrust, angling until he hit that spot in the younger man which had him crying out.

They didn’t last long.

Obi-Wan could feel everything Anakin felt, his own pleasure echoed back at him in never-ending waves of heat and need, so that he could no longer tell where he ended and Anakin began. When Anakin finally let go, Obi-Wan was only seconds behind him, the world exploding in light even as Anakin’s spunk spattered between them and he felt his own release fill Anakin’s body before coating the insides of his thighs.

Obi-Wan rolled over until Anakin was pillowed on his chest, still deep within the younger man, and running soothing hands through those sweat-soaked curls. Distantly he wondered if the Force was laughing at him. This wasn’t what he had intended when this all began.

Anakin came back to himself, drowsy with pleasure, his mind blank, and his body pillowed on Obi-Wan’s own. He was safe and warm in his Master’s arms, held tight as though he was still loved. The Force was calm within him, warm and gentle eddies undulating around him like waves on the shore of a lake. Distantly he questioned his own motives. Was this what he had wanted all this time? Was this truly what he had longed for? Could he have had this if he had chosen differently?

They would have had to leave the Order. Would Obi-Wan have done that for him? With him?.......He had said he would have when Anakin was a child, but would he have done it simply because he loved his former Padawan? Needed him like Anakin needed him? He remembered Obi-Wan telling Satine, the former Duchess of Mandalore, that he would have left the Order for her if she had but asked him to.  
It could have been likes this……always, he thought with rising despair, these bittersweet almost-memories of a different life growing ever more seductive to the man who had existed in darkness for so long.

Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, realized that now he would never know what Obi-Wan would have done. 

Because he had never asked. 

Because he had chosen a different path.

Burrowing his face into his Master’s warmth, he tried to forget everything that would have been if he had simply made a different choice.

 

&……&……&…….&…….&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: So, many of you were right. Obi-Wan was indeed controlling the visions the lightsaber showed Vader but……he definitely didn’t mean for it to get hot and steamy. He was trying to show Anakin his love for him, but that unspoken attraction between them made Vader unconsciously twist/alter the memory in the tent scene back in Chapter 4 and after that…….well, Anakin was always extremely strong in the Force and he was desperate/frantic for those feelings Obi-Wan brought out in him. The numbing drugs he was on, the push of the dark side he was constantly receiving from Sidious, made him forget and suppress all those other feelings he had felt for Obi-Wan throughout the course of his life. The anger and despair he had felt after Mustafar made him refuse to re-examine his twisted view of his former Master. Therefore, all those feelings of attraction and safety and love took him both by surprise and were utterly overpowering. He was unable to ignore them when he could feel what Anakin felt. Obi-Wan could have controlled the visions back to his original intention, but he wanted Anakin just as desperately and he thought that maybe this was a way to break through to Darth Vader. So he negotiated a compromise with Vader’s unconsciousness, lol. Sith Lords are his specialty after all. Sorry, couldn’t help myself.


	10. The Wizard of the Wastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t know own anything from Star Wars. 
> 
> “He won’t let me down. He never has before.”
> 
> Obi-Wan’s voice echoed strangely within the man who was mostly a machine. He had sounded utterly certain, had had complete faith in Anakin. He had never, for even once second, doubted Anakin’s loyalty to him. Mace Windu and Yoda shared an unreadable glance but neither of them voiced their reservations to Anakin Skywalker’s Master and best friend.
> 
> The only reason Vader’s breathing remained steady was because of the respirator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter for notes.

The Death Star, currently orbiting around the heavily-forested moon of Endor and the second of its kind, was progressing at a rapid pace. The pace had increased even further now as soon as Darth Vader was known to be in permanent residence. It was one of the progressive steps of Imperial command that Vader had always enjoyed. It was a vast improvement over the glacial speed of Republic bureaucracy where such projects would have lain untouched for decades. Now, a weapon the size of the Death Star would be commissioned merely on the say-so of the Emperor.

It was a clear, ordered and highly efficient chain of command.

The fact that no one but the Emperor seemed to have a say in how the entire Empire was run hadn’t really bothered him until recently. His will had always aligned with his Master’s….until the matter of his son came between them. 

Young Skywalker, the Emperor always called him, hissing those syllables like they were a personal affront to his Imperial Majesty. ‘Luke,’ Vader reminded himself. He wondered who had named the child. Had it been Padmé? They had never talked about names before everything went down. And Luke was an outer rim name which meant “light,” not a name from his wife’s home planet. Perhaps it had been Obi-Wan who had named his son. Or even his…….step-brother. They had raised the child after all. 

But Owen and Beru had raised Luke as their nephew, not their son. He had always been a Skywalker. He had always known he was Anakin Skywalker’s son.

Had that been Obi-Wan’s doing?

Vader had stared at holographic images of the boy when the reports had first come in as to the identity of the brilliant Rebel pilot who had destroyed the first Death Star. He had raked his eyes over those golden curls, those blue eyes, the grin on those lips. The boy looked so much like he had at that age; shorter, it was true, more Padmé’s build than his, and there was something gentler about the boy, but that enthusiasm, the utter joy he exhibited in flying, his fierce protection of his friends, his hot-headed disregard for the consequences, that was all Anakin Skywalker.

Vader wondered how Obi-Wan had stood it all those years, watching over another child so like the one he had lost. 

He shook his head in aggravation and went back towards inspecting the current progress being made on the shield generator. He was having these maudlin thoughts more and more often lately, and cursed himself for a fool. Obi-Wan was long gone, as was everything else from that part of his life. He was Darth Vader now, second-in-command of all the Imperial Systems, and one day – with his son beside him – he would rule over all of it. This is who he was, there was no use in looking back. He had burned those bridges long ago.

And he didn’t regret it. He didn’t.

‘Is that all you want, Padawan mine?’ Obi-Wan’s voice whispered through him. He shuddered. ‘What do you want to do, dear one?’

He spun on his heel, startling one of the techs frantically trying to explain something to him, and forcefully shoved those memories away. What he wanted was Luke by his side and the Emperor dead. His Master had outlived his usefulness. Both of them. 

Luke would join him……and he would have what he always wanted.

‘You’re going down a path I can’t follow,’ Padme’s choked voice begged him.

‘I’ll never join you!’ Luke shouted after her, now without a right hand just like his father at that age, his eyes wide with horror at what he had just learned.

They had both been weak, crying like fools over what had to be done. Just like his old Master. But Luke would learn better. Luke would learn the truth. And Obi-Wan was no longer here to fill the boy’s mind with lies. Like he had lied to Vader. Like he was still lying to Vader still.

There wasn’t a future looking towards Obi-Wan Kenobi. There never had been.

“He won’t let me down. He never has before.”

Obi-Wan’s voice echoed strangely within the man who was mostly a machine. He had sounded utterly certain, had had complete faith in Anakin. He had never, for even once second, doubted Anakin’s loyalty to him. Mace Windu and Yoda shared an unreadable glance but neither of them voiced their reservations to Anakin Skywalker’s Master and best friend.

The only reason Vader’s breathing remained steady was because of the respirator.

“The preparations for this facility seem to be complete,” he told the Commander, watching dispassionately as a feeling of profound relief passed over the man’s stone-like features. 

“They will be finished ahead of schedule, Lord Vader,” the man said, standing at military attention until Vader gave him a nod and turned away. At the doorway the Sith Lord turned back for the last word. “See that they are, Commander. The Emperor will be here soon, and he is far less forgiving of any lapses or delays than I am.”

As he strode out into the trees of the forest moon, he watched the sun dapple through the green leaves, and he wondered how true that last statement still was. He had meant to enforce his own terrifying image and imply that the Emperor was more fearsome yet, but he hadn’t actually choked any subordinates in…….weeks. Months even. Not since Luke had escaped him on Bespin.

Not since he’d touched that Force-forsaken lightsaber.

‘Damn you, Obi-Wan, damn you,’ he cursed the dead man in the privacy of his own mind. It was only after several more paces – stormtroopers from the 501st hurrying to keep up with him – that he realized what he had said. Or rather how he had called his former Master.

“Kenobi.” He spat the name like a curse, only realizing he’d said it out loud when the trooper on his right said, “Sir?”

“Kenobi is the cause of all my problems,” he said, deciding to ignore the men around him. Word would get back to the Emperor eventually of course, it always did, but Vader was going to talk to himself if he damn well felt like it. “Kenobi is the cause of my weakness,” he murmured. He tried to tell himself that he actually believed, that this was really the truth, but he remembered Obi-Wan sitting in meditation amidst swirling sands on Tatooine, everything taken from him yet he still held true.

He felt the urge to kill one of these pale imitations of his former 501st – weak, greedy men when once they had been Clone troopers loyal to him and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka alone – on principle. 

The shuttle ride back to the station was interminable. Vader could feel pointless fury swamp him once more; pointless because there was nothing he could do to change his life. That path had branched long ago and he had chosen…….wrong. He had chosen wrong.

He could admit that now, to himself at least and in the privacy of his own dark thoughts. He had chosen wrong. True, the war had ended……but there hadn’t been peace. The Jedi had at last acknowledged his superiority as he bested them all, hunted them all, cut them all down……but now they were all dead. Dead and still haunting him. Padmé had died anyway. His son had been taken from him as a result of his actions and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka……..they had remained true. Ever true. But there was such sadness and pain within them, pain which he had put there……and then he had destroyed them both.

This was……this was his fault.

Distantly, he could feel Obi-Wan gently laughing at him. ‘Still so arrogant that you think this entire mess is your fault,’ the ghost of his beloved voice whispered.

No, it wasn’t entirely Vader’s fault. But there was a lot of fault there. Too much for one man, perhaps. Too much to ever atone for. 

He knew that this was the last time the lightsaber would work for him as soon as he brought the cool, metal cylinder to his bare cheek. Bitterly, he supposed Obi-Wan had achieved what he’d set out to do – showed his former apprentice that he had messed up, and messed up badly – so there was no reason for him to hang around.

The despair that filled him at the thought, the aching hole of loneliness which never seemed to be filled no matter what he did, threatened to consume him entirely, even as he felt a tug at his navel and the familiar grays and blacks of all imperial installations faded around him…. 

….into the insides of a dilapidated space freighter. He was in some sort of communal area. There was a holographic board game and sabacc table surrounded by a seating area, all within a somewhat round open space, bordered by chairs and computer monitors. 

A muffled curse rose up from the opened pit in the center. Someone was down there working on repairs; unsuccessfully given the amount of bad language pouring out of it. And there, seated at the table, a rather wry smile on his lips, was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Artoo, battle-scorched and more worn that Vader had ever seen him, was rolling towards the old man’s side.

The man from below – Captain Han Solo, Vader recognized – popped back up from the innards of the ship. Noisily he gathered his tools together, looking annoyed. Vader knew, though, that he watched the old man and the droid just as closely as the Sith Lord did.

Obi-Wan placed his wrinkled hand gently on top of Artoo’s dome. “It’s good to fly with you again, my old friend,” he said, so softly that Vader wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. Artoo’s happy trill had his heart pounding. It had registered, distantly, that the two droids he sought on Tatooine, the ones who had the Princess’s stolen plans, were a protocol unit and an older model astromech droid. It had never occurred to him – not even after he had seen Threepio in the company of the Princess on Bespin – that they had been sent to give the Death Star plans to Obi-Wan.

‘Oh course they would be,’ he realized. There was something right about that, something circular, as though everything was meeting up at last. The Will of the Force, Obi-Wan would have called it, and Vader could feel it again, those familiar ebbs and tides, the song it whispered softly to most Jedi and had always shouted at Anakin. It had been lost to him as Vader for so long, but he could feel it again.

Artoo had been with Ahsoka and Bail Organa and the Rebellion. He had been sent, with Threepio, to find Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine. And Obi-Wan had taken Luke Skywalker with him. So many of them had made it back together again…..and Artoo remembered. No one had wiped his memory. 

There was an ache in Vader’s stomach and he wondered whether it was Obi-Wan or even Bail Organa who had requested that Artoo’s memories be spared. He didn’t believe for a moment they hadn’t wiped Threepio’s. That droid could never keep his mouth shut.

Captain Solo finished gathering his tools and left, but Vader couldn’t take his eyes off of his Master.

Obi-Wan was as old as when he had seen him last. The Jedi Master’s hair was thinning and completely white, his face was line with age and sorrow, and his hands shook a little as he lowered himself back onto the bench.

Artoo whistled a question at him. 

“Yes, it has indeed been a long time, my friend,” Obi-Wan agreed. His hand patted Artoo fondly on the dome again. “Some of us have aged more gracefully than others, of course.” And there was that wry deprecation again – Obi-Wan had always been harder on himself than he had ever been on anyone else.

Artoo made a rude sound at that, telling Obi-Wan in no uncertain terms that he looked just fine. Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. “Anakin would have said the same, but you are lying my friend.”

After a moment he asked, “Have you been taking care of Leia?” He smiled again at the response this produced in the droid. “Yes, I am sure she is quite a handful. I would expect no less given her parents.”

Artoo whistled and beeped a long explanation to Obi-Wan then, explaining that Leia had been taken by the Empire, by Darth Vader himself, before she could bring the plans personally to Obi-Wan and ask him to return with her to the Rebellion.

The ever-present weariness in Obi-Wan’s face grew as he listened. His eyes were shadowed and Vader would have sworn he was worried except that Obi-Wan never looked worried. He was silent for many minutes after Artoo was finished, stroking his beard in thought. At last he said, simply, “Then we will have to find her and rescue her. Keep your sensors open Artoo. I have a feeling that we will be drawn to her location, one way or another. Everything is coming together now, I sense.”

Vader started at these words – so like his own thoughts – and didn’t even realize Artoo had rolled away until he looked up and found Obi-Wan’s eyes fixed unerringly upon him.

“I know you are there, Darth,” he said, his voice echoing strangely, the Force itself resonating oddly around him, rippling outwards until it reached Vader. The Sith Lord stared at the withered old man his Master had become, hooded and serene. Folklore on Tatooine had many stories for those who wandered off into the desert and the Jundland Wastes had been known to drive men mad. Vader remembered what the locals had called Old Ben Kenobi, the Wizard of the Wastes. ‘Only a powerful Wizard, a very Shaman of the wind and sky, could survive by themselves out there.’ Vader had wondered what the Tuskens thought of his old Master. He was reminded of the power Obi-Wan possessed, the power he wielded almost effortlessly, standing before him now. Was this Obi-Wan speaking to him from the past, or Obi-Wan speaking to him beyond death? Both were beyond belief, but Vader, and Anakin Skywalker before him, had always believed that Obi-Wan Kenobi could do anything.

“If you know that I am here, my old Master, then you know why I have come.”

Obi-Wan’s faint smile was almost fond even though his eyes were sad. “You do not even know why you are here, now. You have come a long way, my old Padawan, but you still have far to go.”

“Have I?” Vader was doubtful, his tone faintly contemptuous. “And where do you think I’m going, Obi-Wan?” he demanded.

Obi-Wan stood up and stepped closer towards him. Vader refused to step back even when Obi-Wan was close enough to touch him. Obi-Wan’s hand rose up as though it want to reach for his mask, but after a moment he dropped it back to his side.

“I suppose we shall find out together…….Anakin,” he said at last, deliberately.

The sound that emerged from Vader wasn’t at all akin to a laugh, too full of derision and pain, anger and despair, sneering disdain and much too aware of the irony of all of this. There they both stood, a dream within a nightmare, the old man and the monster he had helped to create.

“We all make our own choices,” Obi-Wan demurred, almost as though he could read Vader’s mind. Perhaps he could within the lightsaber. Vader’s gaze dropped to the mirror of the lightsaber he held in the waking world. There it sat, at Obi-Wan’s belt, innocuous save for that familiar little melody which came from it and tried to wrap around Vader’s force presence.

Obi-Wan at last reached out to touch his masked chin, tilting his head back up until he seemed relatively sure that Vader was once more looking him in the eye. Obi-Wan’s eyes were still blue-grey, wise and as gentle as Vader always remembered them. Vader wanted to fall to his knees and beg his Master for guidance, but that remnant of pride within him stiffened his spine and he remained silent. It was too late for him.

Obi-Wan sighed softly, looked as if he wanted to say something, but then just released his grip on Vader’s mask.

“What I told Master Yoda and Mace all those years ago, still holds true, Anakin. I do not believe you will let me down.”

He stepped back and everything around Vader began to grow indistinct, mist-like, swirls of obscuring grey fog. He tried to reach out and grab for Obi-Wan, but his Master was no longer there. Anakin felt the wail in his own mind, that aching loneliness rising up within him again as everything went dark and Vader found himself once more back in his chambers aboard the Death Star.

But that beloved voice whispered to him, even if from far away. “You will know what to do when the time comes, Anakin.”

The faintest whisper like a soft breeze: “May the Force be with you, always.”

The lightsaber lay in Vader’s hand, its humming finally ceased, its last song silenced.

There was a buzz on the intercom followed by the voice of the Commander in charge of the northern shipdocks. “My Lord,” the crisp voice said. She sounded faintly, ever so faintly, fearful.

“Yes,” Vader intoned.

“The Emperor is in route and will arrive in fifteen minutes. He told me to inform you that he brings word of an imminent Rebel attack upon this station. You are to begin the preparations you discussed with him immediately.”

“It will be as the Emperor commands,” Vader said. He looked down at the lighstaber still held in his hand. The Force whispered to him faintly…..but nothing he did made any difference any more. It was far too late for him. It had been far too late before this all began.

But perhaps……the Force was insistent. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber still had a part to play. 

“I need something shipped back to Mustafar,” he told the deck commander. His son would come with the Rebels, of that Vader was certain.

‘Perhaps’ was a dangerous word, he remembered; it was a bit like hope.

All paths were coming together now.

 

The End

 

&……&……&…….&…….&……&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: Thank you all so much for reading this story and sharing your comments and kudos with me as I wrote it. It was so much fun to create this story…even though it turned in directions I wasn’t entirely expecting it to when I began writing it. I will answer everyone’s comments as soon as possible; I’ve enjoyed reading each and every one of them so much!


End file.
